Who's the Boss?
by Snotwing
Summary: Team Gibbs is fractured when one of their own leaves - a new case threatens to bring the team crashing back together, but Tony has a problem. First he has to get his own team together. Please read and review!
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **Don't own NCIS characters and am not making money - *cries a little*

**Note:** AU, Tony centric, and a plethora of original characters.

**A/N:** I'm sure some of you would like to shoot me by now - I've currently got three stories going. I'm trying to update on a semi regular basis, but *shrug* you know how it is. All I can say is that the story with the most reviews will probably be updated soonest. So, if you like it, let me know! :)

** * ** * ** * **

Special Agent Moira Summers leaned back in her chair, swinging it from side to side. She was waiting – impatiently – for her new boss to arrive.

Summers was a Cajun with attitude and still a semi-recent transfer to NCIS, San Diego. As a former homicide detective for the New Orleans Police Department, she was placed on the MCRT shortly after her transfer not quite three years ago.

Since then, Summers has served under a total of four separate team leaders – none of which she was ever very fond of. The last one, Senior Supervisory Agent Theodore White had been a grizzly old ex-FBI agent who had it out for the Mexican Government. During their last case he had made his final screw up: arresting the son of an important Mexican politician, without sufficient evidence. The subsequent embarrassment, to both parties, meant that White was 'given' a quiet early retirement package.

So, now, Summers waited impatiently for her next boss to come strolling in the bull pen with the same macho air that the last four had displayed. To be honest, Summers was dreading this one – according to the grape vine, he was petty and shallow. And that he liked women – a lot.

_But that's about right,_ she thought, _we've had Team Leads who arrested the wrong person, ignored the wrong orders, offended the wrong General, and then one that was just plain stupid. It's about time we had one that'll sleep with the wrong man's wife._

Summers glanced at her two 'teammates'.

Special Agent Dean Forrester was a former Navy SEAL, and, officially, the Senior Field Agent. He'd gone from MCRT probie to senior field agent in only seventeen months. His rapid climb had less to do with his own merits than his superiors' faults. Other than that, and what she'd observed in the past three years, all she knew about him was that he never went 'home' for the holidays. Forrester didn't talk much – and never about anything personal. She marveled that she'd been working with the man for almost three whole years, but still felt like he was a stranger.

Barely less than average height, Forrester was dark and swarthy. With the slightly crooked teeth and near permanent scowl, he looked like a pirate – all he really needed was an eye patch and a bandanna. She doubted a talking parrot would be allowed to live long enough to add to the general impression.

Right now, Forrester was glaring at his computer screen, no doubt as fed up as she was with their recent train of incompetent bosses. That was one topic he was fairly – for him – loquacious on. He complained often that their boss (it didn't really matter which one) was a moron. So far he'd been right.

Her other teammate, Ross Bowen, was a former JAG lieutenant. For some unknown reason he had left the corps and taken a job in the legal department about six years ago. He'd been on the team about six months longer than Summers had, and apparently, never liked the inner-agency transfer.

He was friendly enough, but Summers had always gotten the impression that it was an act to keep people from digging too deeply. She knew that he hadn't had a great home life growing up, but that things had gotten dramatically better when he'd gone to live with his Uncle in New Mexico. The only reason she knew this much was because she'd accidentally overheard –okay, fine, she'd _eavesdropped_ – on the _only_ personal phone call she'd seen him take at work.

She got along with him better than Forrester, but only because of his ingrained politeness. Even after three years, he was emotionally cold and distant toward both her and Forrester. Summers had had lunch with him a few times during her first year with NCIS, but stopped when it became apparent that she was 'intruding'.

Bowen was concentrating on yesterday's crossword puzzle from the news paper, his almost perfect features drawn into a frustrated frown. Physically, Bowen could be the exact opposite of Forrester – he was tall, lean, blonde haired and fair skinned, and attractive. Not that Forrester wasn't attractive – he was good looking enough, in his own way. _Or, at least, he would be if he smiled every once in a while, _she mused.

Between the two of them, she definitely felt like the odd one out. She never understood how either of them could be so emotionally detached all the time. It could be that their way was better, though. After all, her last 'emotional' investment had caused her abrupt transfer from the city she'd been born and raised in. She'd caught her _ex_-fiancé and former partner sleeping with her best friend two weeks before the wedding. She'd felt so utterly _betrayed_ by the two people she cared most about – she was _still_ bitter.

So she'd left. On the day of the planned wedding, a heart-broken freckled red-head had reported for duty at the NCIS Southwest Field Office. Her bosses' obvious incompetence hadn't help things and she'd become much more prone to violent outbursts than ever before. Oh, yes, the three of them certainly made a crack, emotionally stable team.

If she hadn't been so sure their new boss was going to be a total idiot like the rest had been, she might be inclined to feel sorry for him. As it was, they were probably all getting just what they deserved.

** * ** * ** * **

It was ten after eight, and the New Boss still wasn't there. Summers chewed on her pen. What kind of moron was late for his first day? She jumped when Forrester slapped his desk loudly and growled.

"Just where the hell is this guy?" Forrester was cranky. She had seen him wait hours for a target to show without twitching once, but when it came to waiting for someone allegedly on 'the good' side, he had less patience than her two year-old nephew when he'd missed his nap. "He's over an hour late!"

"It's possible his flight was delayed." As always, Bowen was the calm voice of reason. His defense was flimsy against his team's frustration and impatience. "Or he had other business to attend to."

"If that were the case, he should have called," Summers snapped. She had little patience for others' thoughtlessness at the best of times.

** * ** * ** * **

Newly appointed Senior Supervisory Agent Anthony DiNozzo stood a little straighter, straining to hear the conversation across the bullpen. He checked his watch – it was about time! He'd been waiting over an hour for those three hooligans to say something to each other.

All the reports he'd gotten stated that they were terrors. Even Gibbs would have a hard time reigning this bunch in – and that was probably the very reason he'd decided _not_ to replace any of them. After going through their jackets, he'd concluded that while they were hostile and unruly, they were well qualified for the job. _Great potential within you, there is,_ he thought, smirking. His new seniority made him feel Yoda-esque.

He was not intimidated by their very intimidating reputation – after all, he'd survived Gibbs, hadn't he? This particular team went through senior agents like Gibbs had gone through junior agents, before Tony came along.

Still, he'd wanted to get a _feel_ for his new team, before he jumped right in. He'd arrived early and taken the time to talk to his new director and get to know the Forensic Specialist. He'd even stopped in on the ME – Jimmy Palmer. Tony grinned, Jimmy had left Washington at the same time he had, four months earlier. Tony been exiled to a small regional affair at Fallon, Nevada while Jimmy had come here. The Autopsy Gremlin had been delighted to see him- and eager to gossip about his new team.

He perked up a bit more – a semi-heated debate was developing. Sighing, he moved to head off the worst of it. According to Jimmy, the first few weeks were going to be hell.

** * ** * ** * **

**A/N:** Okay, so I know this idea has been done many times by very talented writers, but I just couldn't resist! :)


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **Thanks for reading and reviewing - keep it up! :)

** * ** * ** * **

Summers growled. Forrester was grumbling angrily to himself about anything and everything, while Bowen continued to very politely and correctly defend their new boss's tardiness. His _inexcusable _tardiness, in Summers' opinion.

"For all you know, Moira, he could have a perfectly reasonable explanation for being late. It's possible…" Bowen trailed off, looking at something directly behind Summers. Forrester turned to gawk, too, and Summers rolled her eyes. She'd fallen for that trick one too many times for it to work this time. She never saw the angry looking, tall-dark-handsome type striding towards their desks.

"Oh, just shove it, Bowen! You-" Summer was cut off by a piercing whistle – that came from their new boss. Just great – he _had_ to show up right then. Just great. She scowled, but gave him her full attention, knowing that Forrester and Bowen were doing the same.

"You call yourselves agents? That's pathetic!" New guy sneered. He opened a file a rummaged through it. "Okay, which one of you is …" he paused and deliberately read the name as if he'd never seen it before, "Dean Forrester?"

Neither of her _male_ teammates responded so she sighed and – almost pointed at Forrester. Instead, she pointed at Bowen convincingly. Why should she make his job any easier? New Guy raised his eyebrow at her but turned to address Bowen.

Summers leaned back in her chair and consciously tuned out whatever New Guy was saying to Bowen-Forrester.

** * ** * ** * **

Tony raised his eyebrow when Moira Summers pointed at Bowen. So that's how it was going to be, huh? Well so be it. Keeping his grin to himself, he laid into 'Forrester' for being irresponsible. The real Forrester was listening avidly, but made no move to interrupt or 'save' Bowen. Throughout the tirade, both his targets maintained a blank, glazed-over expression. They reminded him of gold fish.

"You are the Senior Field Agent on this team!" he barked. Bowen didn't flinch. "Do you even have a bottle of super glue?" That got a reaction, albeit a slight one.

"What?" Bowen frowned at the non-sequitur. The new boss was batty. _Actually, _he thought, _this might be an interesting change. Insanity instead of incompetence._ Although, the guy was probably that, too. "I have no use for super glue."

Tony raised his eyebrow in assumed shock.

"How the hell do you keep them in line, then?" Here he threw a pointed looked at Forrester. Bowen frowned again, but didn't respond.

Sighing in exasperation, Tony moved over to his new desk. Sitting down, he reached into the bottom drawer and pulled out three unmarked files, much to the surprise of his new agents – that drawer should have been empty. It _had_ been empty when he showed up that morning.

"Alright, I'm supposed to clean up the last guy's mess so, Summers, go through this and type up a procedural report. I want it done by lunch." Summers made to protest, but quieted (much to Tony's delight) at the heated glare sent her way. He shoved one of the files in her direction and waited until she'd picked it up to continue. "Bowen, you have legal. Did our ol' friend Teddy break the law, or just bend it a little? Double space and small words – I have to talk to the judge – and have it done by lunch."

Bowen looked a little non-pulsed, but stood to collect his file without remark. Tony turned to Forrester, who was staring at him insolently.

"Forrester, with me!" he barked, grabbing the remaining file, and marched to the elevator.

Surprised, Forrester had to scramble after Tony in a rather undignified manner. He just barely caught up to his new boss before the elevator doors closed.

** * ** * ** * **

Forrester was even more surprised when the senior agent hit the emergency stop button. He stared at this – this assuming, arrogant bastard! He hadn't even introduced himself and he was barking orders like he owned the place! Granted, they'd been told his name – Dinossy or something like that – but, still! It was with those thoughts that Forrester glared angrily at his new boss.

For his part, the senior agent leaned casually against the side of the elevator. He could _smell_ Forrester's resentment, but decided to plough right through it. He was going to have to _earn_ this guy's respect – but that's the way it should be.

"So, how're they doing?" the boss watched Forrester's eyes widen _again_ in surprise.

"What?" Whatever Forrester had expected, polite _concern_ was not it. He wasn't even sure what the man was concerned about. The New Guy sighed.

"You guys haven't had a decent team lead in the last three years – you're the only one that really knows what a _good_ team lead looks like. It's your job, when the senior agent is absent, incapacitated, or just an idiot in general, to look after the junior agents. You three just went through hell with the Mexico case – so I'm asking, how are they holding up?"

That was actually not a bad effort. None of the last four imposters had even tried to ask him about the team.

"Well," Forrester decided he might have to re-evaluate this guy, "_sir,_ Summers was running when she got here and hasn't slowed down since. Whatever sent her here is still haunting her. She's got a beef against men in general and arrogant, confident ones in particular. She doesn't like you."

New Guy laughed.

"No, you don't say?" The sarcasm was biting, and Forrester almost grinned.

"Bowen never wanted to join the team, and still doesn't want to be here. The only reason he _is_ still here, is because the Director insists we have a legalman in the field with us."

"You sure that's the _only_ reason?" The boss's eyes were narrowed – _damn_, but he was sharp.

"I refused to approve his transfer." The senior field agent couldn't hire or fire anyone, but they _did_ have to approve any transfers onto or off of the team. All of the last four guys had tried to get rid of Bowen, but Forrester refused to sign the form.

"Why? His record's impressive, and I can see the kid's got potential, but if he doesn't want to be here, he isn't going do anyone any good."

Forrester grimaced – he wasn't sure why he kept Bowen. It wasn't that none of the replacements were qualified – they were – but something stopped him every time he tried to sign the transfer form. He kept telling himself that he was just trying to make life more difficult for the senior agents and Bowen was just collateral damage, but that never quite rang true.

"He doesn't want to be gone that bad – he hasn't quit yet." That was a good point. Bowen had railed at each senior agent in turn – none of them had wanted to admit that they couldn't get rid of him because Forrester refused to cooperate – but he hadn't quit, and he hadn't tried to go to the director over their heads, either.

His boss 'hummed' in response. Abruptly the serious, thoughtful expression was replaced with a goofy grin.

"What about their love lives?"

Forrester balked – he was surprised _again_, but this time it was disappointed surprise. For one second, he'd dared to hope that this guy wouldn't be that bad. He'd thought that maybe, just maybe this guy would stick around long enough that Forrester would actually have to learn his name in lieu of calling him "sir" all the time. But he was clearly just as immature as the last four meatheads. Glaring, he responded sharply.

"_That_ isn't any of your business. There are strict rules about fraternizing with subordinates, _sir_."

Meathead Number 5 grinned as if he'd just won something.

"That so? Huh."

Number 5 shoved the file he'd been carrying at him. Forrester accepted it with a grunt.

"I want you to collaborate the autopsy report and forensic evidence with Teddy's own conclusions as much as possible. You've got until lunch. I'm going for coffee."

Without another word, he restarted the elevator and got off on the first floor.

Forrester growled, punching the button for the bullpen. He liked this guy even less for his short displays of semi-competence.

** * ** * ** * **

On a whim, Tony went back down to Autopsy before heading out for coffee. Palmer was taking to the forensics' guy, Evan Mackey, when Tony walked in. Mackey was the _geekiest_ person he had ever met. He even dressed the part – awful plaid collared shirt tucked into khaki pants, accentuated by a brown belt and black loafers. A pair of round, thick rimmed glasses topped it all off. When he had first met him, Tony thought Mackey could have passed for a white Steve Irkle, minus the bowtie and suspenders.

He had to admit, though, that Mackey was good. Very possibly as good as Abby – and that was saying something. He and Palmer got along just swell. Tony chuckled, watching them converse animatedly. They were both so absorbed in their discussion that neither noticed him leaning in the doorway. It almost made him homesick, seeing how well these two got along.

Almost.

He still wasn't ready to forgive Gibbs and the others all the grief they'd caused him – but he could acknowledge that what they had was special. He doubted he'd ever fit in here as well as he had there. Gibbs had worked over time to make them all more than just a team – they'd all become family. Tony grimaced. They had been a _family_, and it had ended the same way his 'real' one did – with abandonment.

Gibbs left, and then had the audacity to come back and take charge all over again. Except that when he came back he didn't trust them anymore. Well, okay, he didn't trust _Tony_ anymore. The others may not have noticed it consciously, but they'd responded anyway. McGee and Ziva had never fully trusted him as team leader, but with Gibbs back in the picture, they'd lost what little respect they had had for him in the first place.

Tony had tried to deal with it – he honestly thought they'd all get over it. He thought they were just having a rough time adjusting to Gibbs' presence. Tony turned down Rota – _Rota._

Well, okay, so Jeanne had probably had a _little_ to do with that. But mostly he'd done it for Gibbs and the rest. He wanted to see them all go back to normal, settle back into their familiar routine. After the Mike Franks incident, however, Tony snapped. He just couldn't do it anymore. Even Jeanne wasn't enough to keep him in DC.

So he'd gone to Jenny and requested a transfer – any transfer. Jenny, Ducky, and Jimmy were the only three people that seemed to understand why he needed to go. Jenny had given him the best open position – which was actually really crappy – and promised him the first Team Lead position that opened up. Tony had had to wait four months for it, but it would have been years without Jenny's help.

Ducky commiserated with him – he felt just as betrayed as Tony did, but he'd known Gibbs far longer. He still had faith that Gibbs would come around. Tony had the feeling that the ME hadn't completely approved with his decision to leave, but he was grateful that he hadn't tried to talk him out of it. Ducky had even run interference for him, staving off the worst assaults by Abby and the others when he'd broke the news.

And Jimmy – bless him – Jimmy had flat out told Director Sheppard that if Tony was leaving, so was he. Given his new team's track record with team leads, Tony would bet money that Jenny had planned for him and Jimmy to end up at the same place. He did feel a little bad for stealing Jimmy away from Washington – Tony knew that Ducky was planning for Palmer to replace him when he retired. Even so, this really was a great career move for Jimmy. He had only just received his PhD – to get such a prestigious position as sole ME for NCIS's South West Field Office so soon afterwards was amazing. Again, it was thanks to Jenny.

All in all, things hadn't turned out badly in the least. Jimmy had gotten an incredible head start on his career. Tony had made Team Lead. The forensic specialist was good at his job, and just quirky enough to be interesting. Last, but not least, his three new agents presented a welcome challenge.

Tony would be able to throw himself head first into work – and maybe, just maybe, he'd be able to stop thinking about Gibbs, Ziva, Abby and McGee.

He doubted it, but it was worth a try.

Evan was dragging Jimmy over to the computer – obviously intending to show him something. The skinny guy was good with computers – maybe not as good as McGee, but then he couldn't be _both_ Abby and McGee. The poor guy's brain would probably explode if he tried.

Grinning, Tony decided not to interrupt and turned to leave. He needed coffee.

** * ** * ** * **

**A/N:** Alrighty folks, you've now met all the important OC's - let me know what you think.


	3. Chapter 3

** * ** * ** * **

Summers watched as Forrester stormed off the elevator. She winced. He radiated anger and frustration. If that was any indication of what kind of man their new boss was – and it usually was – the New Guy was going to be the worst one yet. She looked up from her Sudoku booklet when Forrester slammed a file down on his desk, growling incoherently.

"So, how'd it go?" Only Bowen would ever be brave enough to taunt Forrester like that. Summers may have a temper of her own, but she wasn't suicidal. She always did her best to avoid Forrester when he got particularly bad. Bowen never seemed to learn. Forrester glowered. If looks could kill, Bowen would be six feet under. As it was, he didn't bat an eyelash.

"That well, huh?" she muttered. Sighing, she went back to her puzzle. Bowen wasn't doing his work, either. That man had a lot of nerve, just waltzing in and demanding reports _by lunch_. Oh, sure, she'd have to turn something in, but her regular report had enough procedural stuff in it already. She'd just change the title and print if off. Bowen was probably going to do something similar when he finished his crossword puzzle.

She was distracted again when Forrester stood up to root through a filing cabinet.

"What are you doing?"

"Report," Forrester grunted. Summers raised her eyebrows incredulously. He was actually going to write one? Bowen looked up from his crossword.

"Just give him the old one," the former JAG officer suggested.

Finally finding what he was looking for, Forrester turned to face the two junior agents. He looked – resigned? That couldn't be right – Forrester was usually even more resentful than Summers and Bowen put together. He knew every trick in the book when it came to frustrating his CO without giving them anything to 'charge' him with. Less than ten minutes alone with the New Guy, and _Forrester_ was resigned? No way.

"That won't work," he warned them. "This guy isn't stupid."

"You're kidding, right?" Summers asked. "He's like all four of the Morons rolled together."

"She's right." Bowen's expression was sour - whether at having to admit that Summers was right about something, or that she was right in this particular matter. "Even White gave us time to adjust, got to know the ropes before giving out orders. This guy is a grade A bastard."

Forrester grimaced. It was so much easier when they _were_ stupid. This guy - this guy was going to be hard to work around. Meathead Number 5 had read him like a book in the elevator - he had no doubt everything he told him the guy had already known, probably worked out all by himself. He wondered how much of the bastard act was an act.

"Just don't think your tricks are going to work on him." Forrester favored them both with a level warning look. "He may be a bastard, but he isn't stupid."

"Gee, thanks, Forrester!" All three agents jumped as their boss strode in, coffee and donut in hand. "That's such a nice thing to say!"

Summers blinked. He sounded for all the world like a flattered schoolboy. His earlier domineering-boss attitude had completely vanished.

"Agent Summers, have you lost something?" he inquired sweetly.

"Um, n-no." She stammered in surprise. _What the hell is wrong with this guy?_ , she wondered.

"Then Sudoku was an important clue in your last case?" His voice was still completely unthreatening.

Summers stared in response. He couldn't really, truly be that stupid, could he? Well, there was one way to find out.

"Yes, sir! Very important." Forrester groaned quietly and put his head in his hands. Bowen frowned the way that he did when he knew something wasn't quite right.

"Well, then I'll need to see it." The New Guy acted like this was all completely rational. "Bring it here."

Summers dutifully carried her booklet over to him. _1,000 Great Puzzles_ read the title. She was almost halfway through. Her boss took it from her carefully, as if he was handling real evidence, and then indelicately whacked her over the head with it.

Bowen dropped his pencil.

"Summers, get your head out of your ass and get to work! I want that report by lunch."

Summers stayed frozen in astonishment. Had he – he _headslapped_ her. He moved and she flinched, but didn't step back.

"I could have you on assault!"

"And I could have you on insubordination and negligence."

She glared at him angrily. He smirked at her, leaning back comfortably in his chair.

"You – you are –" Summers spluttered indignantly.

"Your boss. When I give you an order, Summers, I expect it to be followed, both on the field and off of it." He stared at her.

This time, Summers stepped backwards. She wouldn't be surprised if he could boil water with that look. He continued to stare at her, obviously waiting for a response.

"Got it, Boss." She turned and almost ran to her desk. Who the hell was this guy?

Bowen was watching the boss as if transfixed – until the glare was sent his way. Flustered, he quickly hid his crossword puzzle and turned on his computer monitor.

Surreptitious glances revealed that Forrester was unsurprised – and amused at this turn of events. If anything, he was a little less cranky than he had been earlier. What did that mean?

** * ** * ** * **

It was lunch time. Instead of chowing down on a nice BLT with Tony, Dr. James Palmer was sewing up his latest patient, a petty officer that appeared to have hung himself. The initial examination had revealed as much, but Dr. Palmer had taken the time to do the autopsy right. Ducky had never tolerated laziness and Jimmy wasn't about to start now. He was about half way through when a rather distraught Agent Summers rushed in, followed more slowly by Agents Forrester and Bowen.

"Hey, guys!" he greeted them cheerfully. Jimmy got along with just about everyone there, and that included the terrible trio. "How'd it go this morning?"

He _knew_ how it had gone that morning – Tony had filled him in earlier, but it was unlikely that any of these three knew that yet. Besides, he was interested to know what Tony's new team thought of their new boss.

"He's awful, Doc," Summers complained. Jimmy tried not to grin too widely. He'd heard about the 'incident' already. "He's so full of himself! Argh!"

Jimmy chuckled. Summers was the most vocal member of the team. Her slight Cajun accent thickened when she was upset – she could be quite impressive when she was angry.

Bowen seemed to be in complete agreement with her, but Forrester seemed reluctant to join in the new boss bashing session. Jimmy decided to call him on it. Of the three, Forrester tended to 'read' people the best. He often came down to discuss cases and suspects with Jimmy, much like Gibbs and Tony did with Ducky.

"What do you think, Dean? Is he really that bad?"

Forrester shrugged off the question. He wasn't ready to commit. Jimmy smiled – maybe Tony's 'chat' had impacted the senior field agent more than Tony thought it had.

Bowen frowned and Jimmy's smile faltered. Bowen was the most observant. He tended to catch things that the other's missed and Jimmy was afraid that his expression had given something away.

"What do _you_ know about him, Doc?" Yup, Bowen was sharp.

"Well…" Jimmy trailed off. What could he say that would mean anything to the three? After all, they seemed to trust him, but they had _only_ known him for a few months. _And_ they all seemed pretty intent on disliking DiNozzo. Jimmy thought furiously, trying to come up with something they would accept. "I worked with Tony in D.C. He's a good agent."

Forrester snorted.

"That all you have to say about him, Doc?" Summers was like a dog going after a bone. Evidently she was expecting some 'dirt' on the senior agent.

"Well," Jimmy hedged. He wasn't comfortable talking about Tony like this, although, come to think of it, he _should_, have been expecting the third degree. "Agent DiNozzo has always been a good agent, he just has some... rather unorthodox methods. People tend to underestimate him. They see what he let's them. I actually wrote a paper about this once. You see, sometimes traumatic experiences, especially in childhood-"

"So, he always acts like an ass?" Summers interrupted. Jimmy rolled his eyes, but didn't fuss. Ducky hadn't liked hearing about his research papers either.

"Yes, er, I mean, he may ACT like one, but he isn't, not really."

"Define the term 'ass', please." Jimmy stopped stitching to stare at Bowen. Summers glared - she probably thought he was mocking her. Although, she should really know better by this point. Bowen is a lawyer - and always will be. Still, his need for extremely clear cut instructions or comments tended to annoy the Cajun and - mostly - ammuse Forrester.

"Ahhh - well." Jimmy floundered. Was there a nice way to define 'ass'? Becase, technically, he'd just called Tony one.

And then he was saved by the bell. Well, sort of.

"Hey, Jimmy, you coming to lunch?" Tony walked in, nodding casually at the other three. Jimmy tried not to look guilty.

"Sure, Tony, just let me finish up here." Jimmy avoided the open mouthed, slack jawed expressions of Tony's agents. Agent DiNozzo had learned how to pop up unexpectedly from the master.

"You guys weren't talking about me, were you?" Tony asked innocently. Jimmy snorted.

"You know very well that we were, Agent DiNozzo." Tony just grinned.

"And how was that going? They rate my ass yet?" Jimmy turned to stare at him. The man was incorrigible. It took all his will power not to splutter. His three agents were looking decidedly gray.

"Anthony DiNozzo, you are incorrigible!" Jimmy wondered briefly if Tony had noticed how both of them were starting to sound more and more like their mentors. Tony sounded more like Gibbs every day.

"Finish sewing, Doc, I'm hungry." Rolling his eyes, Jimmy complied. Tony turned to address the other three, who still hadn't said anything. "You're all done with you reports?"

They nodded.

"Then go for lunch." He made a shooing motion.

Obediently, they trooped out of autopsy.

"I don't think they like you very much," the young ME commented, once they'd left. Tony sighed, his previous cheerful attitude exchanged for a despondent one. "Summers is the most resentful, outwardly, but you should keep an eye on Bowen. Forrester will want to know what's wrong with you." Tony stared at the wall dejectedly. All three of his agents had their own 'special issues'.

"This is going to be a lot of work."

"Zorro." Jimmy smiled. If Tony was still quoting movies, he'd be okay.

And those three monsters had the best boss this side of the Mississippi – they just didn't know it yet.

** * ** * ** * **


	4. Chapter 4

** * ** * ** * **

Forrester and his companions walked to the elevator in silence. Forrester wanted to think.

The ME knew their new boss – _DiNozzo_ he'd said – from work. He smirked. This meant that Mackey could retrieve his personnel file from the D.C office. He glanced at his teammates. Summers would be all over the idea – she wasn't averse to _bending _rules every now and again. Bowen was another story – he'd fuss. Well, he was a _lawyer._ But, then, Forrester had never really liked lawyers – Bowen wasn't really an exception in that respect. He was just easier to tolerate – that didn't mean Forrester liked him. Right?

Shaking his head, Forrester pulled his thoughts back on track as Summers punched the 'up' button for the elevator. Mackey would go along with it as long as Bowen was there. Of the three of them, Bowen was the only one that retained a decent 'survival' instinct. If he was on board with something it was either legal, or had a nice Plan B escape route attached.

So, they could hack into his personnel file. The first the Forrester planned to check was the medical file - history of mental illnesses. Also psych evals. If he were honest with himself, DiNozzo had shown remarkable charisma and an easygoing attitude that was enviable. He'd also shown evidence of a tough, no nonsense disposition - not unlike his former CO's and drill sargents, men that he'd trusted with his life. The rub was these 'attributes' manifested much like moods swings. The man was unpredictable - and unpredictable could be dangerous in the field. If he was competent, he was compentent. Forrester wasn't willing to trust DiNozzo with his life and his team until he was absolutely certain he could handle it.

"Okay, what'cha thinking?" Summers demanded as they boarded the elevator. Forrester snapped his head up to return Summers wary look.

"I'm thinking we should learn a little more about Agent DiNozzo."

Summers frowned. Bowen looked worried – after all, he rarely went along with Forrester's hare-brained schemes.

"Mackey," he clarified, when neither agent seemed to follow his line of reasoning. "Mackey can help us with the research part."

"That's against the law" Bowen's objection was firm.

"So was White's arrest last time. We're lucky we weren't all canned. It's just self-preservation. If this DiNozzo guy turns out to be just as bad as White, wouldn't you like a little warning?" Summers' tone was cajoling.

Forrester smirked. Once Summers put her mind to something, nothing was going to stand in the way. The fact that she was cowed so thoroughly by DiNozzo that morning was incredibly impressive. Summers edged closer to Bowen, who winced before caving. He knew what she could be like.

"Fine, but we don't get caught."

Forrester snorted. As if that was ever part of the plan.

** * ** * ** * **

"Hacking into my personnel file one my first day? Really? That's kind of like going for second base on a first date. A little drastic, don't'cha think?"

The three agents and Mackey groaned. Busted.

They were clustered around the computer in Evan's office, three of them waiting impatiently while the fourth typed feverishly, yet unsuccessfully.

None of them turned to face DiNozzo.

"Maybe if we ignore him, he'll just go away," Summers whispered. Mackey giggled.

"You know," their boss began casually, "my last probie got his computer science degree from MIT. If you're having trouble, he might possibly have something to do with that." His mocking tone grated on everyone's nerves, but Summers lashed out first, as always.

"How'd you _know_?" she demanded angrily. She was about to add more, but DiNozzo interrupted her.

"There _is_ a reason I'm the boss - and you aren't. Don't think there won't be consequences for this." He glared at each person in turn.

Mackey gulped.

"Good luck with that incryption, Mackey." His smile was fond, and appeared to be genuinely well wishing.

Forrester suddenly knew that there had never been any chance of Mackey getting into the file. He turned to the others and shrugged.

DiNozzo cheerfully waved good-bye, probably heading out to lunch with 'Jimmy'. Forrester glowered - the man just _had _to be mentally unstable. What caused severe mood swings? Schiztophrenia? He couldn't possibly be fit to lead them into the field. They had to find dirt. Plan A was out.

They'd just have to come up with something else.

** * ** * ** * **

Bowen scowled. It was the first day, and already the Boss had them pegged. Ha – he already had them all thinking of him as 'the Boss'. Suddenly it became very important that he know more about this DiNozzo guy.

On the first impression, DiNozzo came off as arrogant and over-confident. His second impression was incredibly juvenile.

Neither Forrester nor Summers were ready to give in, either.

"We should call his boss. Can you find his number?" Bowen asked Mackey.

"Depends" The geek shrugged. "I tried googling his name earlier, but didn't come up with anything. Unless we know where he came from…" He shrugged again. Of course he could figure that out, but it would take time, and he doubted that any of these three wanted to wait.

"We could just ask 'Jimmy'" Summers said, putting a special inflection on the ME's nickname. "He was pretty forthcoming earlier."

"No, Mac, try the D.C. office first." Bowen caught Forrester's grin. He was right, Bowen mused. Palmer had often talked about his last team - although he'd never mentioned DiNozzo - and they knew the lead dog their was some kind of hero. They'd have something to say about DiNozzo.

"Um, okay, but he was here this morning," Mackey had already started typing, "and he told me he was an ex-cop."

"Could have been before. He worked with the Doc." Forrester supplied, curt as always.

"Ahh! Yes, it was," the geek crowed. "It says here – "

The phone rang.

"Evan Mackey, Forensics"

"_Mr. Mackey, I'm calling to speak to you and agents Forrester, Summers, and Bowen. Could you put me on speaker phone, please." _The speaker was female, and clearly used to issuing orders.

"Of – of course," he stammered, punching the button.

"_Thank you. Am I speaking to Agent DiNozzo's team?"_

"Yes, ma'am" Agent Forrester answered.

"_Good. Tony warned me that you might be calling. I'm Agent DiNozzo's former director and I can assure you that he is not only qualified to serve as your team leader, but is one of the best agents I know. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a meeting scheduled to begin in five minutes."_

"Yes, ma'am."

"_Oh, and Agent Summers?"_

"Yes, m'am?"

"_Don't sleep with him."_ With that last piece of advice the very esteemed Director of NCIS hung up.

The four of them stared at the phone like idiots.

"He's either a superb agent or a snake." Bowen commented. DiNozzo was either very good at his job, or he just knew the right people. He sighed – another bust.

"Maybe we should just give him a chance?" Mackey's suggestion was hesitant. "You know, like everyone else does with their bosses?"

The other three sighed. None of them could think of a better plan.

** * ** * ** * **

Tony carefully hid his smirk as his three agents trooped off the elevator. They looked sullen and disappointed – good. He'd listened in on their conversation about calling his boss and felt it was necessary to intervene again.

Frankly, they were all three showing more initiative – and more willingness to break the rules – than he would have expected (or condoned). He'd called Jenny because he'd been afraid that they would have called Gibbs. After all, Gibbs had been his immediate supervisor. Normally, Tony wouldn't have worried – but Gibbs was still a little funny after Mexico, and, okay, Gibbs was still mad at Tony, too.

It would have been less than a good thing if they'd called Gibbs…

So Jenny had taken care of it. He was glad he still had _some_ friends back home. Another pang of homesickness hit him. It was becoming harder to live with now that he was back in a familiar environment.

"Ahem"

Tony looked up, carefully hiding the fact that Bowen had startled him.

"What's up?" He asked. He was using a standard interrogation technique – keep the subject off balance and they'll often let slip more than they mean to. Bowen's brow wrinkled – _score_, Tony thought.

"I've completed my report." The former JAG officer said without feeling and then waited expressionlessly for a response. Tony raised both eyebrows – was the guy actually asking him for more work? He was like an android. _God, he's going to be worse than McGee. I'll have to get Summers to take him clubbing – he needs a life!_ Well, dedication to the job was not optional, but he didn't need another chronic workaholic, one - himself- was enough.

"Finish yesterdays crossword, then you can have Summers' puzzle book."

A choking noise emerged from Summers. Tony glared.

Forrester tried not to laugh.

The fact that none of them had noticed what he was doing yet – purposefully alternating from serious competent bastard to cheerfully juvenile frat-boy – spoke volumes about their greenness. He didn't care how long they'd been on the team, none of them were up to par. And besides the last four dolts they'd been given as team leads, they had no excuse. He thanked his lucky stars that none of them were truly incompetent idiots – he'd take the three rookies with bad attitudes any day.

Because rookies could learn.

** * ** * ** * **

**A/B:** Sorry guys, this chapter (and maybe the next) is really just filler. I tried not to make it too boring. Thanks for reading, and the great reviews so far. Please let me know what you thought of this chapter! ;)


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: **Sorry for the wait, guys – and, oh joy, more filler. Don't worry, you'll see Team Gibbs in two or three chapters. I'll try to make it two, but no promises, except that they are coming! So, thanks for sticking with me this long, and for the reviews so far! Please keep reading and reviewing!

** * ** * ** * **

After his team had _finally_ gone on their lunch break, the day had been relatively quiet. Tony read through each of their reports and assigned a few follow up phone calls, requested a few additional forms and logs, and then made a few phone calls of his own. His three 'kids' were behaving themselves – or, at least, they weren't _misbehaving_. For all he knew, they were only being quiet because they were busy planning something big.

Actually he was counting on it. By giving them all a common enemy, he was bringing them together. According to Jimmy, after nearly three years as a team, they were no 'closer' to each other than the average neighbor diagonally across the street and two houses removed. He'd had to endure a mini-lecture about psychological indicators – Jimmy had written a paper on them – to get that little nugget.

Not that he hadn't noticed it for himself.

Anywho, he had a plan. Tony had to unite them against a common enemy. He then had to gain their respect – and prove that he could issue competent orders. Next he had to gain their trust. Lastly he had to establish that very delicate balance between scary boss and caring mentor – he huffed in frustration, Gibbs had made it all look so easy.

In short, he had to prove all over again to a new team that he _was_ capable of watching their backs – this was a depressing thought, and he shoved it aside. He missed his family.

** * ** * ** * **

Summers' attention strayed, once again, to the bottom right hand corner of her monitor. It was 4:53pm. Only seven minutes to go. She had planned a very relaxing evening - at home. There was an excellent take out Cajun restaurant that reminded her of Aunt Jemimah's cooking one her way home. After the dinner and her favorite chick flick, she'd take a nice long, soothing bath and then maybe call home. Her cousins would get her laughing again. Then she could sleep, wake up, and come back to work with _this_. She glanced over at her new boss.

She was _not_ going to let him mess this up for her.

At precisely five o'clock she clocked out and began to gather her gear. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed Bowen doing the same. DiNozzo seemed to be wrapping things up as well. She sighed, relieved – the work day was officially over.

Or so she thought.

** * ** * ** * **

Tony smirked to himself as he took in the relieved, relaxed expression of his new team. Figures they would forget about his promised 'punishment' when he caught them trying to hack into his personnel file. By all rights he could turn them all in to the director – what they did, or tried to do, was actually a very serious offense.

He had a better idea.

It would serve as the perfect excuse for a little 'skills assessment' – Gibbs' style, of course – masked as a punishment. With the threat of official action – permanent mark on record, suspension, demotion, pay reduction – none of them would dare protest.

Tony grinned evilly – he had them right where he wanted them.

They just didn't know it yet.

** * ** * ** * **

Bowen was the first to notice something was amiss. He, like Summers, was looking forward to escaping the clutches of the madman. In the middle of scooping up his briefcase (yes, he still carried one – reminiscent of time spent in legal) and reaching for his blazer, he glanced at The Boss.

The Boss was grinning – evilly. It was disturbing and Bowen instinctively knew that it didn't bode well for his 'escape plans'. Summers, poor Summers, hadn't noticed anything yet. She was hurriedly gathering her stuff together. Bowen tilted his head in confusion when The Boss didn't stop her from heading to the elevator.

Bowen frowned slightly when he realized that he was actually referring (in his head – thank goodness he hadn't actually said it yet) to a man who'd been sitting in the Senior Supervisory Agent's chair for less than twelve hours as "The Boss" with capitals. He glared at DiNozzo – Bowen just knew that somehow, DiNozzo had planted that phrase in his head.

Summers had almost reached the elevator when The Boss called out after her, demanding that she hold the elevator. Forrester was still working on something at his desk – he rarely clocked out at five. Bowen wasn't really sure when he tended to leave – some days he was convinced that he _didn't_.

"Forrester!" The Boss barked. Forrester's head shot up, and Bowen winced in sympathy. Whiplash could be painful.

"Yes, sir?" It was a credit to Forrester that his voice evinced none of the strain he clearly felt. He'd been pent up and angry all afternoon.

"Put that away. Get your stuff." It was The Boss #1.

Bowen had decided, about an hour after lunch, that DiNozzo's moods were just too different and too unpredictable not to be taken as separate variables. Bowen numbered the attitudes as they surfaced. The Boss #1 was bastard mode. #2 was happy-go-lucky college frat-boy. #3 was friendly old man with a morbid sense of humor. This was all carefully documented in a blue spiral notebook that Bowen was considering burning just to make sure The Boss _never_ read it. At the rate things were going, however, Bowen wouldn't be surprised if The Boss already knew about it.

"Yes, Sir." Forrester complied quickly and efficiently, but still somehow implied complete rebellion. The Boss smirked, clearly amused by the show.

"C'mon, Bowen. To elevator!" Boss #2. "Hey Summers!"

Bowen shook his head. He couldn't believe how smooth and complete the transition from #1 to #2 was. It was almost dizzying to watch.

Maybe they could get the director to order a psych eval?

** * ** * ** * **

Tony smirked. He was enjoying this so much. If he'd known Gibbs had this much fun messing with them, Tony would have been bucking for a transfer/promotion years ago. Summers was pissed because she was having to hold the elevator.

He chuckled to himself. She would have a conniption when he announced their _collective_ destination. Forrester was grumbling because he wasn't going to be able to work himself into an exhausted stupor. Tony spared a brief sympathetic wince – the man's nightmares must be horrific. Still, he'd sleep well after their little group activity – even if he looked like a walking bruise in the morning.

And Bowen, well, Bowen was thinking Tony was insane, _again._ Seriously – Tony'd been watching him. The man's expressions were as easy to read as a child's trainer. DiNozzo could tell when the former JAG officer figured out another crossword entry, when one of his earlier answers turned out to be wrong, when he finally made the switch from across to down, and even when the indigestion from the taco he'd had for lunch set it. He'd caught that last expression about thirty seconds before Bowen reached for the Tums.

It was freaky, how easily Tony read his expressions. Still, the man was a lawyer – a very _good_ one, too. Tony wasn't about to underestimate any member of his team. Even Summers.

** * ** * ** * **

Forrester was the last to board the elevator. He stared glumly at one polished metal wall. What the hell was he supposed to do now?

The doors slid shut and there was an indignant squawk from Summers when Meathead #5 knocked her hand away from the button console – Forrester looked up – and hit the emergency stop switch.

Forrester perked up, just a little tiny bit. # 5 was going to try something. He carefully contained a challenging grin. At least this guy's antics were amusing. Sure enough, DiNozzo straightened his shoulders and addressed his team.

"Ahw, shucks, Kiddos. You didn't forget that little episode right before lunch, did you?" Forrester could tell DiNozzo was enjoying this. Just their luck - #5 was a sadistic bastard. "Honestly? Hacking into my personnel file? Calling my boss for a character evaluation? Did none of you think to ask Jimmy? He's not exactly known for being closed-mouthed."

Summers' and Bowen groaned. Of course they would, their subconscious _let_ them go home and relax before getting a peaceful night's sleep. Forrester grunted. He wondered what the agent had in mind.

"For the next two weeks you three are going to train with me" DiNozzo paused to meet the former SEAL's challenging glare "from 1700 to 2000. You will meet me at the gun range at 0500 sharp. We will be taking nothing but cold cases until your training is complete. If you do not pass, you'll receive transfer orders."

"What? You can't do this! We're all qualified! We've just been evaluated! You can't make us stay after work without reason!" The thick Cajun accent clued her partners in to the level of pissed-off-ed-ness she'd reached. She was shaking her fists wildly and Forrester knew from experience that if he didn't do something, those very same fists would likely strike a superior officer.

Bowen reached out and laid a calming hand on Summers' shoulder and spoke some calming legal babble into her ear. Forrester took the opportunity to step in between the two ex-cops. At times like this, Forrester was never sure if he was protecting Summers or whichever meathead she was threatening.

This time, he was pretty sure he was protecting Summers. Meathead #5 smiled.

"If you'd rather take the Director's style of punishment over my own, be my guest."

"That's blackmail," Bowen stated. "And it's illegal."

"Yep." DiNozzo was almost insufferably smug. "And so's what you little horrors did earlier. So, what's it gonna be?"

Forrester glared. He knew what the smarter choice was. DiNozzo's 'training period' wouldn't have any lasting ramifications – no permanent mark on record, no transfer, no demotion, no pay reduction. To be honest, if this really did reach the director, whatever action she took would be drastic, and most likely would split the team. She'd taken so much crap from them already…

Forrester looked at the two junior agents. Summers' was boiling with pent up anger. Bowen was simmering more quietly, but Forrester knew he was angry – not just at DiNozzo, but at the whole situation. Bowen hated being cornered like this.

But at least Bowen was logical – he'd take Meathead # 5's deal. Summers was another story. Her anger was the righteous, 'holier-than-thou' type. She was right and DiNozzo was wrong, in her mind. She wouldn't take DiNozzo's deal because it was 'better for her'. That would be unethical. He sighed – sometimes having a naïve yet temperamental _woman_ on his team was exhausting.

He glanced back at DiNozzo and thought he saw a brief flicker of understanding.

"Each person makes their own decision," he announced. Forrester sighed – yup, definitely understanding. Although, if DiNozzo thought that statement was going to make him no longer responsible for Summers' decision, he was wrong.

** * ** * ** * **

DiNozzo watched Forrester closely. He could clearly see the other man's dilemma – whatever decision he made would leave one of his teammates behind. He could chose the hard way with Summers, and DiNozzo had no doubt he would try to soften things for her by claiming he'd ordered her , or he could stick with Bowen, trying to protect him from the big, scary boss.

Tony wished he could slap Forrester across the back of the head and tell him that it was _his_ team now – Tony would take care of them.

Forrester sighed wearily. Tony grimaced – he'd expected this, but that didn't make it better.

"I'll take my chances with the director." Forrester's mouth formed a grim line.

"Yeah, me too!" Summers declared angrily. "You can take your training and shove it!"

"What – afraid of a few bruises?" The taunting tone elicited an angry growl from the Cajun. Tony was counting on her refusal to walk away from the challenge. If he made it seem like _this_ was the worst option, the scarier one, she'd take it in a heartbeat. He just had to keep baiting her. "It's probably because you are a woman."

Definitely not true – he'd met Ziva David – but it worked like a charm.

"Arggg!" Shoving Bowen aside, Summers marched across the semi-crowded elevator and jabbed a finger into DiNozzo's chest. "You chauvinistic pig! I'm just as capable as you are! Probably more so, because I actually use my brain to think!"

"That mean you're in?"

"Damn right I'm in, pretty boy. Bring it."

"That's Senior Agent Pretty Boy to you, Summers." DiNozzo smirked. "Forrester, you gonna abandon your teammates?"

Forrester shook his head. His expression, for once, was entirely devoid of hostility and suspicion.

Looks like that was one to the dark side.

Excellent.

** * ** * ** * **

** * ** * ** * **

Forrester dragged himself out of bed. His alarm clock blinked 0400. Stretching, he tested his limbs for residual soreness from last night's 'training session'. There was plenty.

DiNozzo had surprised him completely – starting in the elevator. He'd known how to get to each of them. The threat of legal ramifications – that one was for Bowen. He'd goaded Summers, knowing she'd never take the 'better' option. And he'd dared Forrester to abandon his teammates – clearly knowing he wouldn't. This guy definitely had their number – and they definitely didn't have his.

Forrester still wasn't sure what this guy was trying to do. He hadn't beat the crap out of them – the few actual bruises he had came from Summers and Bowen – although he proved he _could_ after two intense sparring sessions. Forrester was an ex-Navy SEAL, so it meant something that DiNozzo could pull tricks he'd never seen.

At first glance Forrester had seen common street fighting techniques. According to Mackey, this guy was an ex-cop from _Baltimore_ and had been working narcotics for almost two years before transfer. So, of course he would fight like a common thug with some 'extra' training.

But he didn't, at second glance. He watched as both Summers and Bowen underestimated him. Summers went down with some fancy jujitsu move that DiNozzo pulled with a ninja's agile grace. Bowen went down, too, within minutes, landing on his ass after an impressively efficient military move. Forrester himself found himself pinned to the ground in a nifty arm-bar that he should have seen coming.

The boss had only taken each of them down once. After that, he'd coached them patiently, often pairing them against each other. Summers had said something about feeling as if she was back in a basic self defense course.

But what surprised him most was the level of respect that DiNozzo showed each of them. He'd respected their training and the skills that they did have, building on them without being patronizing. Forrester realized, last night, that DiNozzo was okay.

Sure, the guy had his quirks, but he was a capable leader. He took the time to make sure his team was ready for field work – made the effort to make sure they _had_ to learn, and did it in a way that wasn't insulting or undermining. This guy was building a team.

Forrester smiled as he dressed for his appointment at the gun range.

Finally, finally, they had someone who was competent.

** * ** * ** * **

**A/N: ** Okay, so I almost didn't include this last part in this chapter, but I decided that you deserved more than bland un-filling oatmeal after the long wait. Let me know what you thought!


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: **First off, thanks for reading and reviewing! Secondly, I'd like to apologize for the long wait (on all my stories). Hopefully, this chapter will be worth it.

**** * ** * ** * ****

**NCIS, Washington D.C.**

"Langer!" Gibbs barked.

"Uh, yes Agent Gibbs?" Gibbs scowled at the temp – no way this guy was going to make a permanent spot on _his_ team.

"Where the hell is your report?" Langer flinched and Gibbs couldn't help but compare his reaction to DiNozzo's classic sheepish look and quick 'Sorry, Boss' smile. _Is he actually shaking?_ He missed DiNozzo.

"Uh, well, I was working on that, but then we had that confer-"

"Langer!"

"Uh, right, Gibbs. Sorry." Gibbs let out a threatening growl and Langer gulped. "Working on it!"

Gibbs glowered, but didn't respond. Even DiNozzo hadn't been that bad as a probie – and this guy was supposed to be his senior field agent?

Unbelievable.

He let his gaze wander over the other members of his team. McGee and Ziva were taking Tony's sudden absence hard. Gibbs honestly doubted that anyone besides him, Ducky, and Abby ever really understood Tony's _act._ Gibbs had to admit it had taken him awhile – post amnesia – to put it all together. When he first came back he'd actually wondered how the hell DiNozzo had managed to stay on his team as long as he did, and even _how _he'd managed to get there in the first place. Yes, it had taken him a little while to see what DiNozzo hid so well. He really wished he could have figured it out _before_ DiNozzo's transfer.

After all, Tony wasn't superman. He'd kept the team from falling apart during Gibbs' 'vacation', playing both _his_ and Gibbs' customary roles. Boss and class clown. Hard ass and prankster. Ziva's confidant and kid brother. McGee's stern, yet fair superior and irritating, yet reliable coworker. Abby's stalwart father figure and best friend. He had done it all, been it all, even when no one noticed. Or, rather, when they _did_ notice and never failed to point out that he _wasn't_ Gibbs.

With Tony gone, there was no way in hell Gibbs could cover the hole. McGee and Ziva understood that something was _off_ – after nearly four and a half months – but he doubted either of them connected it to Tony's desertion, er, _transfer._ Abby didn't notice – she was too busy missing Tony, bombarding him with e-mails, and leaving sad messages on his personal cell phone. Ducky knew – and he commiserated (although, not enough to tell him _where_ DiNozzo had been stationed, but when Gibbs really wanted to know, he'd just ask McGee to find out for him) – but he advised Gibbs to let McGee and Ziva work it out on their own steam.

Gibbs was losing his patience.

Four and a half months, five major cases solved, two _damn_ cases gone cold, and three hospital trips without DiNozzo and they were all still limping by, no one willing to admit that they missed him.

Gibbs turned back to his work, trying to focus on something other than Langer's infuriating incompetence. He reached into his inbox and immediately froze when his fingers brushed over an eerily familiar texture.

Stony faced, he pulled the offending envelope out onto his desk. A small off-white square of expensive personalized stationary stared back at him. The familiar sight caused his mind to flash back to decidedly unpleasant memories.

One of the first cases he and DiNozzo had worked on together, without Blackadder or anyone else.

A serial case.

_Cold case._

Gibbs' mouth went dry.

** * ** * ** * **

**NCIS, San Diego, CA**

Dr. Jimmy Palmer sat in the front seat of his blue Toyota. The engine idled as he stared at the concrete walls of the NCIS parking garage. It'd been a week and a half of the cruel and unusual punishment, and Dr. Palmer was just barely hanging on to his sanity. Sure, it was the three agents and Mackey that were being punished, but Jimmy was getting the worst of it.

He had to deal with all the whining.

And the "Tony" related injuries.

Sure, Jimmy had applauded Tony's decision to re-train his agents before allowing them into the field – at first. Because, _at first_, it had made a lot of sense. The 'punishment' had forced all parties involved to see that Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo was not someone to mess with. Even the other teams were wary of the new guy. He hadn't endured any of the hazing Jimmy had been subjected to. They didn't quite respect him, but nobody messed with him. Tony was on his way to being the Gibbs of San Diego.

Besides firmly establishing the no-nonsense 'tough guy' façade (because that's really all it was for DiNozzo – he was, as Abby phrased it, just a sweet, cuddly stuffed giraffe on the inside), Tony's Plan allowed him to get to know his team and they him. He learned their strengths and weaknesses and they became familiar with his "mood swings". They also became accustomed to following his orders without too much fussing.

So, of course Jimmy liked the idea at first – all of the points had been in its favor. He just hadn't reckoned on the whining or the "just scratches" or "just bumps".

Tony had been putting the three agents, and surprisingly enough, Mackey through their paces. Of them all, Forrester was the only one that didn't complain regularly about the 'training' aspect of the 'punishment'. He actually _liked_ Tony's exercises – or seemed to, anyway. Sometimes it was hard to tell – Forrester wasn't exactly a talkative guy in the first place.

The evening exercises tended to be physical and slightly hazardous. DiNozzo had started the three agents out with hand to hand combat and moved on to 'evading the bad guy' and then some 'team exercises'. That meant that Jimmy started out applying ace bandages and ice packs, smoothly transitioned into relocating shoulders and stitching foreheads back together, and then, finally, was providing painkillers and performing concussion checks (who knew basket ball and trust exercises could be so rough?). Each agent received their share of 'boo-boos' which Palmer kindly patched up for them, all the while glaring at Tony. Once treated, the agents, exhausted from their recent 'training session', would shuffle home like zombies.

The mornings weren't so pleasant.

In the mornings they couldn't 'shuffle home', but were instead required to march off to the bullpen – which they put off until the last possible moment. In the mean time they complained about whatever stupid exercise their heartless taskmaster had set them this time – or, in Forrester's case, the dreadful fate that awaited them in the bullpen, cold cases.

Mackey would usually join them, complaining about his own personalized punishment that was meted out during his lunch hour. He'd actually strained his wrist carrying the advanced computer science textbooks Tony had assigned him. His punishment was to brush up his hacking skills until he _could_ break into Tony's personnel file – and he was hating every minute of it. Jimmy wondered how Tony planned to keep Mackey from reading the contents once he'd opened the file, but, knowing Tony, it was probably already taken care of.

0700 would come, the agents and Mackey would go, giving the floor to Tony – who would proceed to complain about _his_ muscle aches, which he blamed on his team for being rebellious, and stress headaches, which he blamed on the director for breathing down his neck.

His team, except for maybe Forrester, seemed to hate him. The director, whom Jimmy liked very much, was very unhappy that her major crimes _response_ team was being unresponsive for two weeks. He'd go on and on until time for his first coffee break. That gave Jimmy a mere 45 minutes to coax Tony onto one of the autopsy tables and prod at the senior agent, searching for any injuries that he knew Tony would never mention.

It had become routine.

Sighing, he braced himself. The sooner he started this 'routine' the sooner it would be over. Grumbling to himself, he opened his car door and levered himself out of the vehicle. Maybe Tony's morning assignment had actually been something logical. He scoffed to himself at the unlikely thought. No – Tony didn't do anything _logically_. At least, nothing he did complied with 'regular' logic – Jimmy had to admit, most of what Tony did actually made sense, after it was explained. So, odds were, this morning's exercise was completely complain-worthy.

Jimmy was so ready for next Monday.

** * ** * ** * ** *

Summers rubbed her aching muscles and considered a preemptive strike against the inevitable headache. Deciding for it, she dumped two Tylenol out of the bottle and knocked them back with a gulp of water from her gym bottle. If she took them now she wouldn't have to wait as long to take the second dose when the headache claimed her. She never took the pills in the bullpen – she wouldn't give the moron the pleasure of admitting that he'd gotten to her.

This morning's pointless exercise had been a poker game – accompanied by a plethora of movie references. The most prominent had been _Maverick_ with Mel Gibson and Jodie Foster – a western comedy that, apparently, it was a crime not to have seen. Bowen, surprisingly, had been the only one that knew what the Boss was talking about.

Still, the stilted conversation wasn't any more or less awkward than usual. She'd done her best to ignore it and focus on the card game. It might have been fun if she hadn't been playing with two emotionless bastards and her boss. It made her feel slightly better than neither Forrester nor Bowen could tell when the boss was bluffing, even if they both read her like a book. By the end of the game, DiNozzo had all of their personal cell phones, Forrester's waterproof wristwatch, Bowen's expensive leather briefcase, her favorite necklace, and all the cash they'd had on them.

Dr. Palmer had assured them that the Boss's threat to pawn the personal items was just a joke – but Summers' wasn't so sure. Then again, making them work for them that evening during some sort of physical endurance exercise seemed more his style. Putting the items in a pawn shop would be too simple.

She growled, continuing her way up to the bullpen. Dr. Palmer had been less than sympathetic with all of them this morning – not that he had ever been completely on their side. It was upsetting that someone she'd considered an 'ally' sided so easily with The Boss from Hell. She, and, she suspected, Bowen and Forrester, had developed a soft spot for the quirky young doctor. He was much more mellow than Mackey and tended to have some very reliable insights in situations both case related and not.

He'd sided with DiNozzo almost without a second thought, although Summers could tell he was making an effort not to alienate the rest of them. For some reason Dr. James Palmer seemed to _trust_ the new agent, despite DiNozzo's childishness. She almost felt betrayed.

But, if she were absolutely honest with herself, she would have to admit that while the Boss was cruel and unusual, he was smart. And, on top of that, he'd managed more in a week and a half than their last four bosses combined. She felt like she was beginning to get to know Bowen and Forrester. She still wasn't sure how Special Agent DiNozzo had orchestrated that – but she knew he had.

As her teammates 'opened up' she'd discovered that Forrester actually had a wickedly dry sense of humor. Her jaw nearly hit the floor the first time she heard him laugh – at something Bowen said! Bowen was turning out to be less naïve and less straight laced than she'd originally thought. In fact, Summers decided that she might actually be able to _like_ both of them, if she'd met them somewhere outside of work.

But that was besides the point. DiNozzo's training had been impossible. He'd actually made them practice shooting with their less dominant hands. Who did that? Summers had railed at him (after both Forrester and Bowen declined to do it themselves) and he'd responded by showing off. _Ambidextrous bastard._ So what if the skill might actually come in handy on a case? There was no reason to be paranoid – especially if the main reason was to 'punish' them.

The guy might be bright, and some things might be getting better, but the man was still a moron.

Right?

** * ** * ** * **

Bowen watched the Boss warily as he made his way to his desk. DiNozzo was up early – usually he didn't show up in the bullpen until 0800 – it was barely 0730. Of course, Bowen was pretty sure that "Unpredictable" was DiNozzo's middle name. He should really stop being surprised.

Like with last night's game of 'capture the flag'. Seriously? The guy was nuts. Nevertheless, four fully grown agents had played the ridiculous game – they'd all three pretty much stopped asking the Boss to explain his reasons for anything (even capture the flag and poker).

The Boss was just as nutty in the interrogation room, as well. So far, the team had only seen him question two subjects – both related to their cold cases – and Bowen genuinely wondered if the man had _ever_ been subjected to a legitimate psych eval. The first one he'd cracked like a hard boiled egg – just by scratching his ear when he thought the guy was lying. It was uncanny.

He knew he had an ally in Summers – she was just as, if not more, unsure of the Boss. She agreed 100 percent with his 'the guy's a total nutjob' evaluation, and even added a few choice phrases of her own. Forrester refused to participate in the stress relieving name calling exercise.

In fact, Bowen had noticed that Forrester seemed less and less resentful of the new boss. Recently, Bowen would describe Forrester's attitude toward DiNozzo as one of approval. Summers still acted as if she'd very much like to disembowel the boss with a spoon, but Forrester – who was usually a much better judge of character – was starting to _agree_ with the Boss. It was scary.

DiNozzo leaned back in his chair, scowling as he listened to someone on the phone. Boss # 5 – Bowen cringed. So far, he'd only seen Boss #5 once – after a particularly unpleasant discussion with the director about _when_ they needed to be put back on rotation. Boss #5 was like Boss#1 (the bastard) times three with a healthy dose of "I don't care, just shove it" thrown in for flavor.

Bowen shook his head. So far he'd only counted six distinct moods, but they still left him at a loss. He'd actually asked Dr. Palmer about it but hadn't gotten anything really helpful in return. According to the doc, "Tony" really didn't have _moods_. He hadn't been able to say what the Boss _did_ have, but he was very emphatic about bosses numbers one through six being less like mood swings and more like _responses_ to people and situations.

Bowen hadn't really understood that, but he hadn't felt like arguing with the medical examiner. He was pretty sure he would have lost even if he'd tried.

_Slap!_

Startled, Bowen looked up. The Boss had slammed the phone back down into the receiver and was glaring at _him_.

"Bowen, need your notes on the McClane murder." Bowen frowned. The McClane murder was a case about seven years old. He'd been going over it a few days ago and thought he found a lead. The Boss had dismissed it though, claiming it was too circumstantial to really prove anything. Why would he want the case back now?

With a mental shrug, Bowen rummaged around in his drawer, searching for the file. He hadn't asked the Boss why on earth he'd wanted them to play capture the flag; he wasn't about to question his request for a cold case file.

"Sometime today, Bowen!"

Especially not when it meant he'd be asking Boss # 5.

** * ** * ** * **

_**A/N:**_ And let it begin! Please review!


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: **K, maybe a little short, but it's an update. As always, any mistakes are my own. Thanks for all of the really great reviews!

**** * ** * ** * ****

**NCIS, Washington D.C.**

"Langer!" Gibbs was seething. How long could it possibly take to photocopy case files?

At his outburst, Ziva and McGee looked up warily. Gibbs stood angrily at the focal point of the chaotic bullpen. He was desperately trying to stay in control of the whirlwind around him.

They had a letter, and, as of four hours ago, they had a victim – and no new leads.

Gibbs was furious.

They'd quickly taken over the crime scene – some local LEO's had found the body and already begun processing the scene by the time Team Gibbs had arrived. The vic was a young man in his mid twenties, athletic and attractive – or he would have been, if he'd still had his eyes, ears, tongue, and fingers when they found him.

He wasn't a Naval officer, but his parents both were and the murder was directly connected to NCIS's previous serial case. Getting lead hadn't been hard. They were working in conjunction with the local PD, but NCIS was definitely lead.

That meant _he_ was lead – Gibbs really hated high profile cases like this. He was heading the NCIS task force and coordinating any inter-agency 'cooperation'. Such as the FBI, which hadn't shown up yet, but Gibbs was expecting any minute now. All he had time to do was _direct _(and clash with the director), when he really needed to be out in the field.

It had been the same last time, but then he'd had Tony who _reliably_ hunted down any of Gibbs' "hunches" or investigated his "gut feelings" without question. He and Tony had always made a solid team – actually, they'd kinda _bonded_ after that. They'd nearly caught the bastard – using Tony as bait, of course – but not quite.

At the very least, they now had DNA samples of the killer.

In addition to all this mess, the killer seemed to be taunting _him_ personally.

The Letter had been disturbing. The killer had announced, in bold handwriting, that he was going to start killing again "now that two is one" and "old legs don't run slow while young brains leap fast".

The same garbledy-gook as last time, but this time Gibbs knew what it meant.

'Nyah-nyah boo-boo. You can't catch me without DiNozzo.'

And he might just be right.

Without someone he trusted in the field, feeding him information the other guys don't care to share or don't think is relevant, Gibbs felt helpless.

Ziva was a good field agent, but sometimes she lacked the instincts of an investigator. McGee was learning, slowly, but he, too, didn't have a big enough "gut" for this case. Neither of them had been "trained" to really _think_ like the bad guy – to investigate not only what he very obviously _did_, but to predict what he was going to do next.

Okay, so he didn't really have _no one_ to do that – he had Langer.

The agent in question stumbled in, precariously balancing a stack of disorderly files.

_Well, it's pretty much the same thing._

** * ** * ** * **

**NCIS, San Diego**

Massaging his temples, Tony mentally reviewed the McClane case.

_Petty Officer Gerry McClane – shot through the chest three times, all bullets recovered – was found dead in his apartment by his maid around 3:30 pm on Thursday , April 10__th__, 2000. Partial prints were pulled off the door handle, but no matches were found. Everything else was clean. Murder weapon was never recovered. _

_ME at the scene pronounced TOD to be sometime early that same morning. McClane was shot in his apartment and his body not moved. Dead where he fell._

_None of the neighbors heard the gunshots, although forensics said there was no evidence of a silencer being used, nor did autopsy find fibers pointing to a pillow or cloth being used to muffle the shot._

_McClane was single, an only child, friendly and outgoing. Everyone claimed to love the guy – and no one seemed to know anyone who didn't. The man had a nearly perfect record – no hint of him living anything other than the straight and narrow._

And that was all they had – until Bowen pointed out that the confetti they found lodged in the cuff of his pants was signature of a local club. The original investigators took it for granted that the confetti was from a birthday party McClane had attended two days earlier.

Rule #2: Never take anything for granted – always double check.

Besides – the shiny bit of plastic was in the shape of a coyote howling at the moon – who would throw that at a _birthday party_ for a thirty year old man?

The lead would have been majorly helpful seven years ago, but was more than likely useless now. After shaking off the shock that Bowen had recognized club confetti (confetti at a club? Well, there were weirder things out there) Tony had told him that it was too circumstantial. They couldn't really prove that McClane had been to the club or had any connection to it prior to his murder.

Still, it had been a good catch and he made the call.

Only to discover that that very same club was under investigation as a cover for a group of efficient and dangerous hit men. Apparently there was no target too big or small for these guys – as long as the proper amount of green was offered. Targets had been found all over the country and about half of them had been military. The hits were so methodical that the victims were sometimes mistaken for victims of a serial killer.

Tony sighed.

The lead agent was on his way over right now to 'chat' with Tony.

Nothing like a reunion to brighten up his day.

** * ** * ** * **

_Ping._

Agent Summers glanced up as the elevator doors opened. An angry looking gray haired man stormed into the bullpen. The boss had gone on a coffee break about ten minutes ago, but he wasn't back yet, thank goodness.

The man had been more than insufferable – he had been since a certain phone call earlier that morning. She had no idea who had called, but it certainly put him in a foul mood. Bowen called it "the Boss #5". After listening to his 'definition', Summers was inclined to agree.

Sensing movement out of the corner of her eye, she looked up to see the gray haired man storming towards _her_ desk, an olive skinned companion following closely on his heels. Before she met the boss, she might have blanched; he sported a rather impressive fierce scowl. However, she didn't care who this guy was or why he was angry, DiNozzo had to be worse. With that in mind, she greeted the stranger with calm confidence.

"Can I help you?"

"Looking for DiNozzo." The gruff response was immediate. Forrester and Bowen stopped pretending not to notice what was going on, but still seemed inclined to let her handle this. She barely restrained an eye roll.

"Agent DiNozzo isn't here-" _obviously_ "but he should be back soon. Can I help you in the mean time?" She felt like a secretary. An _annoyed_ secretary. Who did this guy think he was, scowling at her like that?

"No." The visitor's tag on his chest crumpled as he crossed his arms. "Call your boss and tell him to stop flirting with the coffee girl and get his ass over here."

Her eyebrows rose incredulously. Evidently this guy knew DiNozzo and didn't care about the response that kind of comment might earn him. Either this guy was the boss's friend or – Summers cringed – he was worse than DiNozzo. Either way he was glaring at her.

She reached for the phone, hating herself. _Might as well quit field work and get a nice comfortable job as a secretary somewhere, seeing as I'm so good at it._

The phone rang a few times before it was answered.

"_DiNozzo."_

"Uh, Boss?" She glanced at the thundercloud still parked in front of her desk. His gloomy sidekick was having a stare down with Forrester. "There's some guy here to see you."

"_Tell him not to get his panties in a twist. He wouldn't be there if he had something better to do. And don't let his shadow mess with anything on my desk."_

Click.

Summers stared at the phone. Apparently two weeks wasn't quite long enough for her to get used to his rather abrupt phone etiquette. She looked back up, expecting the angry man to be leaning over her desk impatiently.

It took her a moment to realize he was reclining in the boss's chair, his boots resting on a corner of the desk.

"Well?", he prompted.

"He's on his way." She glanced at the 'shadow', who was still engaged in a heated staring match with Forrester – and losing, by the look of it. She decided not to say anything about the desk.

Work just kept getting stranger and stranger.

** * ** * ** * **

**A/N: **I'm sure the 'mystery guest' is quite obvious, but lemme hear your guesses any way. By the way, this is for Leobold1 who wanted to see Tony's new moves on a familiar character. Thanks for reading, and please review!


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: **I kinda rushed through this, so I apologize for any mistakes. I just wanted to get an update posted (I'm feeling a little guilty because I started another story. I haven't posted it yet…) Anywho, thanks for reading and the really, really great reviews so far!

**** * ** * ** * ****

**NCIS, Washington D.C.**

"Langer!"

Ziva winced as Gibbs bellowed angrily into his unfortunate cell phone. It was new, actually. His old one had been reported as 'lost' after he had thrown it out the car window yesterday. She would feel sorry for Langer, as well, if he were not such a bungling idiot.

Fine – the man was not really that bad, but his _average_ skills were horribly frustrating, especially with the current case. DiNozzo had been almost unbearably annoying – specifically after Gibbs' return from Mexico – but he was prone to bouts of brilliant investigative intuition. Even though she knew he was good at his job, she was always surprised when he actually had a _good_ idea that no one else had thought of. At first, Ziva had missed Tony for his entertainment value, but not his 'unique contributions'. Every time Langer wrenched out, er, screwed up or failed to anticipate the Boss's next command, Ziva could practically see Gibbs comparing him to Tony.

Two days into this serial case and Ziva was feeling out of her depth – which she blamed on Tony, or, more accurately, on Tony's absence. She did not doubt her abilities as an investigator, but she knew had no clue how to handle Gibbs. Before, she had not realized how much interference Tony had run for both her and McGee when it came to Gibbs. Sure, she would stand up to Gibbs if she felt he went too far but she could not keep him on track.

Neither she nor McGee could keep him focused on the _clues_ instead of the _crime_. Even Abby and Ducky were having a rough time. She remembered a few cases, especially ones that involved children, where she noticed Gibbs seemed more tense and angry than usual. More than once she had thought he was going to explode. Then Tony did something stupid or made some highly inappropriate comment and Gibbs sort of deflated.

Up till yesterday she had _thought_ it had just been an enormous amount of self control that kept Gibbs from strangling Tony. Yesterday she had seen the same signs – the same angry eyes and tense mouth. She and McGee watched it build and build. The phone rang and Ziva expected Gibbs to harness that same 'self control' as she had seen a dozen times or more at DiNozzo's interruptions.

Instead she finally witnessed the explosion.

And it was a grand one.

The cell phone out the car window was not so troubling.

The bullet holes through said window concerned her a bit more.

She had no idea how he had managed to draw his weapon while driving. What she _did_ know was that DiNozzo's desertion, er, _promotion_, bothered him much more than he would admit.

If Ziva were honest with herself, she would have to confess she was hurt, too. Why did he leave? Better yet, why did he _change_ when Gibbs came back? If he had not changed, he would not have left. If he had not left, _he_ would still be here, now, and _Langer_ would not. Then she would not be worrying about Gibbs' fraying temper.

Tony would.

Also, they could really use one of his crazy insights right about now.

** * ** * ** * **

**NCIS, San Diego**

Tony grumbled to himself.

Why did things like this always happen to _him_?

After all, _how_ many coffee shops were there in San Diego? And how many of them was he _not _at right now? He sighed; feeling sorry for himself wasn't going to help anybody. Cautiously, he turned his to the right.

Instantly he felt the cold barrel of a gun prod the back of his head, reminding him that movement wasn't allowed. There were two guys – one behind him, and the other with a gun to the cute blonde coffee girl, directing the plain brunette one to empty the cash registers.

Tony had been standing in line impatiently for nearly ten minutes and already been informed by Summers that his two 'friends' were awaiting his presence in the bullpen. So, he was minding his own business when he noticed one guy with a T-shirt hoody, the hood pulled down over his face, moving toward the front of the store. Without thinking, he shouldered his way to the front of his line, ignoring the other angry customers. He had lurched forward as soon as his trained eye caught the shiny gleam of a poorly concealed weapon – only to be brought up short by a strong grip on his left bicep.

He'd turned around swinging, but only got a gun butt to the face for his trouble. He cursed under his breath about the situation – and his own carelessness – again.

Honestly, who holds up a _coffee shop_?

"Honestly, who holds up a coffee shop?" Tony winced as the words tumbled out of his mouth. Making fun of the bad guys was probably not the best option, but he'd watched Lethal Weapons too many times to do anything else. Well, he was committed now. "Why not go after a bank or a gas station or even a restaurant?"

The guy behind him, who Tony had mentally dubbed Knucklehead #1, just grunted and applied a little more pressure to the back of Tony's head.

These guys were definitely not professionals. Tony still had both of his guns. He knew he could take the guy behind him out – the question was how to get the second guy before he shot his hostage. The other customers were out of the way, lined up against the glass window and doors at the front of the shop. Tony assumed that nearly all of them had managed to text or surreptitiously call for help. Still, the police had not shown up. Tony felt it was incumbent on him to do something.

He frowned when he realized that neither of the Knuckleheads had responded to his jibe. Better turn up the heat, then.

"So, whose idea was this, then? Knocking off a _coffee shop_ – why not just drive around to all the fast food joints and steal the donation boxes for sick kids?" This time Tony was careful to sound calm and slightly mocking instead of angry. There was a harsh intake of breath from the man behind him.

_Bingo._

"_My _plan is _brilliant._ Do you even know how much business a good coffee shop gets every morning? How far is the nearest police station? Banks hire guards and keep expensive cameras and alarm systems. You see any of that here?" Tony's captor hissed defensively. _Definitely dealing with a nutjob._ The senior agent called up a derisive smirk even though it wouldn't be seen.

"What about law enforcement's notorious obsession with _good_ coffee – and doughnuts, of course. Weren't you worried you might run into one here?" DiNozzo could _feel_ the man's smug expression, even before he answered.

"True. Cops like coffee. What a lucky coincidence then, that I have the only cop in here at gun point." Tony hid a grimace at the oily tone and the unwelcome truth.

It was then that the opportunity came slamming down, literally. Knucklehead # 2 had been watching closely as the brunette emptied the third and final cash drawer into the cliché black bag. The blonde took advantage of his unwise preoccupation by simultaneously twisting away from the gun and smashing a large glass coffee pot full of steaming black liquid into her captor's groin area.

Ton reacted instantly, knocking Knucklehead # 1's gun to the side and spinning around as he drew his own weapon with his free hand. Unfortunately, the bad guy's reaction was just as quick. He dropped the gun before Tony had the chance to grab it and turned with DiNozzo's spin, towards the nearest exit.

One part of Tony's mind protested vehemently as he turned away from the fleeing man. He was disarmed and no longer the biggest threat. In the space of a heartbeat his gun was trained on #2, who was just recovering from his 'free coffee sample'. The silver gun came up in slow motion – it was barely chest level when DiNozzo squeezed his trigger twice.

** * ** * ** * **

Bowen watched his two teammates with amusement. Summers was nearly at the end of her rope – she kept sending heated glares at the angry agent currently occupying the boss's desk. He'd reorganized the desk top twice and was working on a third arrangement.

Summers had called the boss three times and was already fiddling with the phone cord again.

Which was amazing, really. Bowen had heard the boss yelling through the phone all the way over at his desk the last time she called. Even the Angry Agent had winced.

Forrester and the Sullen Sidekick had given up the staring match a while ago and were engaged in a rather intense game of table-top football. Bowen had nearly laughed out loud when his teammate nailed his opponent right between the eyes with the thick paper triangle.

Still, it was time and past time for the Boss to show up. If he didn't make it back soon he might find a few dead bodies draped over the desks. Or strewn across the bullpen, he amended after glancing back in Summers' direction.

** * ** * ** * **

DiNozzo stormed away from a swarm of blue-uniformed LEO's. They hadn't arrived on scene until too late. The first perp had gotten away (DiNozzo still regretted that he hadn't gotten a good look at the guy) and the second was being stuffed into a body bag by the coroner and his assistant. Officers scurried around trying to interview witnesses and secure the crime scene. DiNozzo growled at the sight – his own team could do a better job than these fifteen or so uniforms. The paramedics had been called, but Tony escaped before they spotted the nasty gash above his eyebrow. He'd slipped away from the chaos after handing one of the distracted officers his contact information. They could take his statement later.

He growled as his phone rang _again_. That was the FOURTH TIME Summers called. He didn't care if Fornell had lit his damned desk on fire and had told her as much last time. He ignored the call and headed to a diner he knew served abysmal coffee.

He would never go to a _good_ coffee shop again.

** * ** * ** * **

Fifteen minutes after Summers' fifth unsuccessful phone call, FBI Agent Tobias Fornell watched with unconcealed _rage_ as the elevator doors opened _finally_ revealing one Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo.

Just like the Italian to keep him waiting over an hour.

"Nice you could join us, _DiNutso_," he spat, putting extra emphasis on the native pronunciation of the agent's name. 'DiNutso' scowled, and Fornell noticed belatedly a nasty looking gash over the agent's left eyebrow, still oozing blood.

"Sorry, _Toby_, something came up." The FBI agent raised his eyebrow. He still had to get used to the younger agent's pluck. He and DiNozzo had butted heads over a few cases during Gibbs' _vacation_, so he knew that Tony had spunk. Still, Gibbs was the only person that had ever _returned_ Fornell's own intimidating combination of bottled anger and frustration. This definitely needed to be a _private_ combination. He hoped DiNozzo hadn't decided to adopt this crappy old elevator as his 'office'.

"You look like you had dealings with a jealous husband," he observed coolly. Well, he did look awful. "Couldn't wait until _after_ work for your social enterprises?" DiNozzo took a few steps closer to Fornell, and the FBI noticed the other NCIS agents flinch.

DiNozzo had a reputation for being a bastard, did he? It was hard to digest; Fornell was more used to the charming frat-boy persona. Not that he doubted DiNozzo could be a hard ass if he wanted to – after all, he had learned from one of the best. Still, it was disconcerting.

Speaking of disconcerting, Sacks hadn't said a word since they got here. Usually he and DiNozzo were at each other's throats before he could say "frame-up". A sidelong glance showed him that Sacks and the dark, dark burly agent were having another silent stare down.

"My office, Fornell." Fornell sighed as DiNozzo stalked off toward the elevator. It had been too much to hope for ,really, that DiNozzo hadn't adopted _that_ particular habit of Gibbs'. Sighing resignedly, he followed the younger agent into the confining metal box.

** * ** * ** * **

As soon as the elevator doors slid shut, Tony pulled the emergency stop lever. Ever since the whole 'frame-up incident', Fornell had been one of Tony's least favorite people. Agent Slacks had him beat, though. Tony nearly smirked when he recalled the way Forrester had been burning holes in the man's forehead with a glare that could kill a gorgon.

Tony watched as the balding agent leaned casually against his side of the elevator. Casual, huh? Former incarceration or not, Tony was the king of casual. He adopted his own relaxed posture and waited for the other man to say something.

"What happened to your face? Gibbs didn't fly out and clock you for leaving, did he?" Tony frowned at the reminder that his old boss was probably still mad at him, but forced himself to respond debonairly.

"Nah, just a hold up. Think Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid filmed in 1969, directed by -"

"You were at a bank?" Fornell's face was expressionless. It was almost as if he wasn't quite sure whether or not he believed Tony.

"Coffee shop." That startled an amused snort out of the other man.

"Who holds up a _coffee shop_?"

Tony shook his head. He wouldn't know until someone came up to take his statement. Until then he had another case to take care of.

"You get that looked at?" Fornell gestured vaguely towards Tony's head. _Aw, didn't know you cared, _he thought bitterly.

"Yeah, I saw the shrink last week." DiNozzo turned on a blazing smile. "What'd you want, Toby? I thought you belonged in D.C." Fornell didn't look happy about the change of subject, but clearly knew better than to argue.

"I'm just visiting. You connected a murder to the Howler's Nightclub, which the FBI is investigating as possible headquarters for a group of assassins for hire. I want the file."

Tony shrugged. The case was seven years old and they had no _helpful_ leads. There really was no reason for him to try to keep the case. He was about to say as much when Fornell's phone rang. The older agent made a sour face as the shrill tone filled the small metal enclosure, but answered it nonetheless.

"Fornell" Tony listened carefully to the Fornell's half of the conversation, but was unable to puzzle together who called or why. After a few minutes of grunting and some choice swearing, Fornell hung up. "The Letter Writer is back."

Tony felt his blood run cold. _The Letter Writer is back!_ Shit.

DiNozzo closed his eyes to block out painful memories of the last time he and Gibbs had tried to catch that son of a bitch. He'd nearly gotten killed. And now Gibbs was going after the serial killer without him. Opening his eyes, he realized Fornell was watching him closely.

"The Director wants me back in D.C. for this. It's Gibbs' case and no one else can keep up with him. He'll send someone else to take over the case here…" Fornell trailed off, but Tony had no problem finishing the thought. Whoever the FBI director sent would be an idiot.

"The McClane murder is clearly NCIS jurisdiction. I'll need all your notes on the assassins' den, seeing as we've placed the victim at the same nightclub within forty-eight hours of his death." At least that's what the official report would say. Fornell nodded slowly.

"I'll send you what I learn about Gibbs' case, too, provided you let me know if you think of anything that might be useful." Tony hesitated – did he really want to go to Fornell instead of Gibbs? But, then, would Gibbs or anyone else on his team be likely to keep him in the loop? And he wanted to be in the loop – it had been his case after all. It was his fault the Letter Writer was still out there, killing. Besides, Fornell would be a good ally. What's a murder conviction between old pals?

"Will do. I'll even keep whatever idiot your boss sends over occupied." Tony offered the FBI agent his hand. Fornell shook it firmly.

Tony straightened and attempted to shrug off the feeling that he was betraying his family. He firmly reminded himself that _they_ had turned their backs on him first. Gibbs left and the others, well, the others didn't trust him. Maybe they never had.

Resolutely, he reached for the emergency stop switch.

Time to catch some assassins.

** * ** * ** * **

**A/N: **Okay, so a few of you got the mystery guest right! I'm glad I managed to surprise some of you – I think it's kind of boring when you always know what's coming. Please let me know what you thought of this chapter – the plot is starting to get complicated. Don't worry – Gibbs and Tony will 'clash' as promised in my summary.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N**: Okay, folks, I have to apologize in advance – this chapter is a little goofy. I, erm, fell asleep watching Mean Girls, and I think some of it may have sunk in. Honestly, I matched my _nail polish_ with my outfit (I actually put together an outfit!) this morning – I'm turning into a plastic! *Runs around screaming* So I apologize for any, erm, remarkably juvenile behavior displayed by my OC's (I think I can be excused for Tony and Sacks as they have precedent). I also apologize to any Plastics out there – or those of you who really, really liked that movie. And, now, on with the show!

** * ** * ** * **

"You know, you might as well just hand over the case file _now. _DiNozzo was never well known for his _backbone._" Sacks grinned smugly.

Summers stared at him – the nerve! Okay, fine, maybe a week ago she would have agreed with him – quite passionately, actually. But now, something was off. She didn't actually _like_ her boss, but even she had to admit, he knew how to get stuff done. For all his sometimes flippant attitude and sometimes uncontrolled anger, he had yet to slip up.

But that was really besides the point – no one came into _their_ territory and insulted _their_ boss behind his back. Summers didn't even have to glance at her two partners to know they were thinking along the same lines.

It really didn't matter who this Sacks character was – he was going down.

Forrester growled as the FBI agent reached for the manila file on Summers' desk. He hesitated slightly and Bowen scooped it up, leaning forward with an unpleasant sneer.

The standoff had begun in earnest as soon as both bosses had disappeared into the elevator.

Thus far, Sacks was proving to be amusingly easy to rile. Summers called up a smirk to match Bowen's while Forrester somehow managed to loom threateningly over the taller man.

"Hmm, I see what you mean" Bowen drawled casually. "It does take a lot of backbone to attack an absent man."

Summers smirk widened as Sacks scowled at the comment. Even Forrester snorted in amusement.

"I haven't said anything that isn't true. Your _boss_ is only here because he screwed up one too many times." Sacks paused, looking thoughtful. "I wonder how many people he _did_ have to screw to get this assignment."

"Jealous because you weren't on his list?" Bowen retorted quickly, forestalling violent reactions from the Cajun with a bowie knife and the hulking ex-SEAL. Bowen needed to keep those two satisfied by prolonging the word game (as long as he kept scoring evident hits) while not over agitating the FBI agent. It wouldn't do to have a fist fight break out in the bullpen.

While Summers could deliver her fair share of scathing comments, she didn't have the emotional control to excel in any verbal sparring. Forrester never seemed to have much use for words in any case. No, it was definitely up to the lawyer to keep this fire under control.

Briefly, he wondered why they all felt so protective towards their boss's reputation. Last time he had checked, he'd felt much the same way Sacks did about DiNozzo. Maybe it was just because he'd felt a rather intense dislike of Sacks the moment he'd set eyes on him.

"What do you know," the olive skinned agent spat out angrily, "what do you know about your _Boss? _I don't suppose he told you why he was transferred from his old team? Or about the murder charges? How about his two year stints at three different PD's? It's amazing Gibbs kept him as long as he did!"

Behind the fuming agent, Forrester decided that he'd had enough. He didn't believe anything the other man was saying – or, rather, he didn't doubt that there was _some_ kernel of truth in his words, but not enough for them to actually be valid. The Boss wasn't a predictable man, and he wasn't a pleasant man, but he _was_ a damn fine Team Lead, and an apparently capable investigator.

_He_ was confident in his assessment of the man. Summers and Bowen weren't though. Forrester knew he needed to stop this before Sacks managed to poison the younger agents' opinions of the Boss.

So, he did the only thing he could think of. He acted before Bowen had a chance to formulate some kind of response.

Grabbing Sacks by the shoulder, he spun him around and clocked him on the jaw. He studiously ignored the indignant glare from Bowen and the slightly jealous one from Summers.

Stunned, the FBI agent toppled to the ground, wincing as the ex-Navy man bent down over him, close enough to count nose hairs. Forrester whispered his threats – not wanting the other agents to hear.

** * ** * ** * **

Tony frowned. As soon as the elevator doors opened, he sensed _something_ off. Glancing at Toby, he confirmed that he wasn't the only one. Nonetheless, he kept his casual attitude as he strolled over to _his_ team's little corner. Rounding the bend, he saw what the gray partition had partly concealed –

Two of his agents bending over Forrester and Slacks.

"Hey, Boss!" Tony narrowed his eyes. That was a bit enthusiastic for Bowen.

"You should really watch your step. Be more careful." And that was extremely verbose for Forrester. Tony eyed his agents suspiciously as the ex-SEAL helped Fornell's agent to his feet. Strange, Summers hadn't said a word.

He glanced at Fornell again. The older agent raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything. Well, he shrugged, he really didn't care, either. They seemed to be behaving _now._ He could grill them later.

"So-" he prompted. Fornell nodded and turned to the recovering agent. Funny, he was rubbing his jaw now.

"Sacks, give DiNozzo the file. It's NCIS juri now."

Sack's jaw popped open, snapping shut only after sending Forrester a furtive glance. Tony's suspicion intensified.

None of _his_ agents would have actually hit Sacks, would they? _Cause that's what it looks like. _He thought dryly._ Too bad it wasn't me – I think I'm jealous._

"Now, Agents Sacks!" Fornell barked in such a Gibbs-esque manner that Tony had to stifle a giggle.

Giggle? Maybe he'd been hit a little harder than he thought.

Well, whatever. Jimmy'd patch him up – maybe.

For now though, he had to start training his team to _anticipate_. He grinned inwardly as Summers snatched the files from Agent Slacks. The FBI agent opened his mouth to complain, but was interrupted by a rather delicate cough from Bowen. Agent Forrester took half a step forward.

"Well, best of luck, DiNutso." Tony redirected his attention to the older man. Tobias would be a good ally, and he'd keep his word. Tony and his team would catch the assassins, and Fornell would keep him updated on the serial case. "I'll get the rest to you when we get back," the agent finished cryptically, glancing warily at his strangely subdued second. He was obviously thinking it was high time to get the hell outta Dodge.

"You know your way out, Toby. I'll call you when the interrogation rooms are full," Tony stated smugly, knowing that his arrogance would piss off the sidekick.

Strangely enough, Sacks cut off another steamy response. This time, though, his eyes darted off in Summers' direction. Tony was half a second behind – _damn head injury_ – but he still caught the briefest glimpse of something shiny and serrated.

Shaking his head slightly, Tony turned his mind to the task of getting his team started on the Ring of Thieves – er, assassins – case.

** * ** * ** * **

"Right. Your total is 7.93."

While grumbling a bit about the price of food these days – honestly, eight dollars for a burger and fries? – Tony groped around his pockets for his wallet.

His nice brown leather wallet that had been a going away gift from Ducky.

The very same wallet that wasn't in any of his pockets.

Frowning, he thought back to the last time he'd had it.

Coffee.

This morning, after the _incident_ he'd gotten coffee… which the waitress had said was on the house after handing him her phone number.

Damn.

He remembered pulling out some cash while waiting in line during his first attempt at getting a coffee. He hadn't dropped it. He knew he hadn't dropped it.

No, his wallet, along with all his credit cards, ID, and his badge – _damnit_ – had been safely in his pocket long before the hold up.

The only explanation – he groaned, eliciting a glare from the cashier – was that it had been _lifted_ off him.

He snorted. Only a true opportunist would make the effort to pick someone's pocket while robbing a coffee shop. He re-affirmed his resolve to never be caught at a decent coffee shop again – unless it had a top of the line security system. Or was situated right next to a police station. Or both. Yes, both sounded good.

Scowling to himself, he glanced over at Forrester and lifted his eyebrow. His agent kept his face carefully blank, but DiNozzo could still tell that the man wasn't one bit happy about this new imposition. He could practically hear Forrester thinking that it should be _enough_ for his boss to be completely indifferent to all of society's niceties at work. But on break?

Nevertheless, the ex-SEAL stepped up and, without saying a word, paid for Tony's lunch.

It was good to be boss.

With a sigh - it was bad to have your life, erm, _badge_, stolen - he thanked Forrester and mentally postponed the trip to the Howler. First, he needed to talk to some idiot LEO's about the Stick up in the Coffee Shop.

For some reason, he couldn't muster his usual humor.

He was just pissed.

** * ** * ** * **

The Boss was a slave driver.

Summers, being a cop in New Orleans, had seen a lot of messy cases that led to long, frustrated all-nighters. Cases where the tension was so real that even the most laid-back person would snap at the slightest provocation. She'd been worked to the bone by dried-up angry cops, decades on the force sapping away any kind of humor that might have eased the situation.

The Boss was worse.

She glared down at her pile of reports. DiNozzo had gruffly ordered her and Bowen to stay in the office and find him a _solid_ lead – preferably one that connected the McLane case to the one that that FBI bastard had dumped on them, before storming out with Forrester in tow.

She had been sitting here with only Bowen and a pile of boring reports for company for the last two hours. A startled gasp from across the office area attracted her attention. Bowen was gaping at a rather nondescript piece of paper.

Curious, Summers wandered over to his desk, peering over his shoulder.

As soon as she caught sight of the letter it was her turn to gasp.

_The Letter._

Shit. Every cop who'd been on the force five years ago would recognize _that_ letter.

Re-reading the cryptic threat, Summers found herself morbidly fascinated by the fact that DiNozzo had only been here for two weeks and already he was receiving death threats.

From a rather infamous serial killer.

Again – shit.

Why the hell would _The Letter Writer_ want DiNozzo's "pretty little tongue silvered on a star shaped platter"? And what did "the fox with the sliver coming to his grave" mean?

Chilled with trepidation, Summers reached for her phone to dial an all too familiar number.

** * ** * ** * **

**A/N: **Okay, I know this is a kind of short chapter – and after the long wait, I feel kind of bad about it. But I hope the evil suspense (at least I hope it's evil) sort of makes up for it. Oh, and 1,000 points to anyone who can guess what the Letter Writer's message means. I hope to have another update soon.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N:** I want to thank everyone for the great reviews so far! I'm sorry things are moving so slowly – meaning both the updates and the storyline. I've included a short (really short) teaser at the end of the chapter – hopefully this will mollify some of you out there. If you don't want to know what's coming, don't read anything after the author's note at the bottom. Well, enjoy!

** * ** * ** * **

Growling under her breath, Summers stormed into the director's office, with Bowen in tow.

She'd called the boss six times. _Six_ times, in the last two hours – and he hadn't picked up.

_Damn smug idiot._

How was she supposed to warn him that some sycophant was out for his blood if he didn't answer his phone?

And Forrester… well, she'd tried Forrester's phone. She'd screamed incoherently (causing Bowen to jump a foot) when Forrester's desk started to ring merrily.

Hence the reason she and Bowen were marching into the director's office.

Without knocking.

Maybe that was a tactical error?

Director Katie Hollinder was a very self aware woman in her late forties. Her graying hair, pulled into a severe bun and the round, thin rimmed reading glasses perched on her nose made her look like a stern school teacher.

Hollinder raised an eyebrow at their intrusion.

"Is someone dead, Agent Summers?" That particular tone, pre-Boss from Hell experience, would have made Summers' knees tremble.

"Um – er, no." Instead, she was able to keep most of her composure and stammer out the relevant answer.

"Maybe someone is dying, then, Agent Bowen?" The left eyebrow rose to join the right one.

"Not exactly." Bowen's voice was smooth and stutter-free. Summers would have been envious of his calm if he hadn't looked pale enough to frighten a ghost.

"Ah." The Director leaned forward, over her desk. "Then I suppose there is some other reason you didn't knock politely?" Much like Summers, Hollinder's native accent had a habit of surfacing when she was especially excited. In fact, the older woman's thick, slow western drawl was twice as frightening as Summers' Louisiana staccato.

"Um, yes, actually." Bowen glanced at Summers, clearly inviting her to continue. She declined – DiNozzo had inured her to a lot of scary things, but the dragon lady could still strike fear into her heart.

"We found a _letter_, unaddressed, but clearly concerning Agent DiNozzo."

The Director's expression turned stormy, and Summers hastily presented the letter in question. Bowen wasn't doing this right – the goal was to _avert_ her anger, not irritate her further.

"It's _the_ letter – you know…" Summers voice failed her. She didn't want the Boss to die. She was too young for him to die.

_What the hell?_ She thought, _I hate the arrogant ass. I don't need him here._

But, then, neither did she get along with her teammates. Nor did she write more than one report for any given case. She didn't play poker, or basketball, or capture the flag.

She couldn't shoot lefty to save her life. Jujitzu wasn't in her skill set. She never followed anyone's orders unquestioningly. No-one hit her and lived to talk about it.

Well – not before DiNozzo, anyway.

Maybe she did like him – er, having him around, just a little bit.

As Hollinder scrutinized The Letter tensely, Summers realized that DiNozzo was actually a good boss. Sure he was difficult and juvenile, but he got the job done.

And she trusted him.

Therefore, DiNozzo was not going to die – the Writer's _record_ be damned.

"Am I to assume," Hollinder's clear, no-nonsense alto broke into her thoughts, "Am I to assume that you think whoever wrote this letter intends to kill Agent DiNozzo."

Summers looked at Bowen, who, surprisingly enough, met her worried expression with one of his own. They both nodded.

"Very well. Take the letter down to Mackey – I want him to confirm that the letter is genuine. Then you are to inform Senior Agent DiNozzo that his team is _back on rotation_."

Bowen shot her a telling glare.

Summers gulped. Why did _she _have to tell him?

** * ** * ** * **

_**NCIS Washington D.C.**_

Swearing under his breath, Gibbs pressed into the smooth wood a little harder than necessary. If he wasn't careful, he'd end up with an un-even job.

He just couldn't bring himself to care.

Maybe that was the bourbon's fault.

Even as he thought it, though, he knew that wasn't it. His mind went back to The Case – and all the sudden he cared again. _Damn it._

The bourbon was _supposed_ to fix that. He downed another shot, throwing down the sandpaper. It wasn't doing him any good tonight, anyway.

Normally, he used it as a tool – a tool to help him compartmentalize. To help him stay sane. And when it didn't work…

He racked his _still_ recovering post-amnesia brain. Images assaulted him.

_Oh, right._ When working himself to exhaustion didn't work, he'd drink himself to a stupor. He glared at the almost empty bottle of bourbon. When drinking didn't work, there was DiNozzo.

DiNozzo who grounded him – albeit, probably not intentionally. Hell, who was he kidding? Who knew _what_ DiNozzo did on purpose and what was just plain dumb luck?

He finished off the bottle in one great gulp.

DiNozzo should be here. Not Langer.

Gibbs shut his eyes, sure that the faint _thump-thump_ of feet on his stair case was imagined. Even if it wasn't, his rational mind (amazing that it still functioned) told him that it couldn't be DiNozzo.

"Jethro"

It wasn't.

Groaning, Gibbs refused to look at his most recent pain-in-the-ass. He shouldn't have to deal with this in the peace of his own basement.

"A little late, aren't you Tobias?"

The case had been open for about a week. Usually, the FBI was breathing down his neck in a matter of hours.

"Was out of town."

Gibbs snorted.

"Have a nice vacation?" Yeah, right. Whether or not Tobias' trip was official, it sure as hell wasn't pleasure.

"Expected to." The FBI agent chucked dryly. "Turns out the competition out there is every bit as bad as you."

Gibbs raised an eyebrow.

"That so, huh?" He hunted around for another glass or at least an acceptable substitute, then remembered that he was out of bourbon. "That why you came back?"

"Actually, heard you got an exciting case." He paused, as if trying to decide whether to be serious or try to lighten the mood a bit. Gibbs was pretty sure he looked like hell. "Came to lend a hand."

"Don't have anything new to tell you."

"Yeah, I heard there's less to go on than last time."

And that stung, because there was.

One letter, one body – and then an unexpected break from the pattern. There was no letter gloating – no threats or claims to a new victim.

This was unheard of – the killer _always_ gloated about his kills, both before and after he'd done the deed.

It was almost like he just _left._

** * ** * ** * **

_**NCIS San Diego**_

Very Irate Senior Special Agent Tony DiNozzo marched up the officer on desk duty in the dingy police station. He and Forrester had been waiting patiently for over twenty minutes. Which was a completely unnecessary waste of his time – honestly, how hard was it to fetch whoever was investigating the coffee shop hold up?

Of course, Tony really shouldn't have expected any great show of competency here, after witnessing the complete pandemonium at the crime scene. He grumbled a bit as his phone buzzed _again_ before he could address the desk sergeant. He knew without looking at the screen that it was Summers. That would be her eleventh call in one day – oh, yes, he was counting.

These phone calls – checking up – were definitely something he was going to train out of her.

Irritated, he firmly pressed the 'reject' button and started towards the desk sergeant again.

Only to be knocked away as a body collided solidly with him.

Forrester was there in an instant, manhandling the offending party to his feet. Squinting from his position on the floor, Tony could just barely make out the janitor's tag on the front of the man's gray cover-all.

For a hazy half-second, the floored agent could have sworn he knew the _janitor_ from somewhere – but the moment passed when he noticed a rather gruesome scar marring the right side of the red-head's face. A rather unforgettable combination, that.

With only a few warning grumbles, he pulled himself to his feet and refocused on accosting the desk sergeant.

He never noticed the janitor watching him avidly – almost hungrily – and Forrester was certainly too busy glaring at the sluggish Officer Mahooney.

**

After another twenty minutes, DiNozzo stalked out of the completely _lousy_ excuse for a PD, leaving a trail of destruction behind him. Even Forrester was giving him a little more space.

Tony had 'talked' with _five_ separate officers, before he was able to intimidate one into looking in evidence for his wallet – which, sure enough, was there. Apparently, he had dropped it during the struggle – _yeah, right _– and it had been turned in by a grateful witness.

More likely, the robber-wanna-be had tossed it on his rather rushed flight _away_.

Still, he did have it back now, albeit minus his _badge_.

Tony turned his head, about to snap at his trailing agent for – well, for _trailing_, actually, but thought better of it.

It would have been such a Gibbs thing to do.

His stomach clenched at the thought of his former mentor. Sighing, the NCIS agent continued to march resolutely toward his car.

Things were rough – the Coffee Crazy, Assassins' Den, and the Letter Writer, all dumped on him – and his team was still not housetrained.

Gibbs, Pre-Mexico Gibbs – hell, probably even Post-Mexico Gibbs – could handle things here without breaking a sweat. All Tony would have to do is make sure the man stayed sane. Make sure he didn't work himself into a hospital bed or, more likely, a grave somewhere.

But, here, now, working a case that wasn't his, another that _shouldn't_ be his, and a third that _was_ his, he felt very alone.

Until a solid hand landed on his shoulder.

Carefully suppressing a start, Tony looked up at Forrester, who was regarding him with a strangely stalwart expression.

"Boss?"

Right.

He was The Boss. Three people were counting on him – on and off the field.

He fished his keys out of his pocket.

He'd learned how lead from one of the best. He knew how to fight crime – he _could_ do this job.

"You a coffee man, Forrester?"

And he'd tackle it, one case at a time.

** * ** * ** * **

Forrester growled as his boss jostled him _again_.

They were sitting in a dark, gloomy, unreasonably crowded bar doing unauthorized surveillance. According to the boss, the FBI hadn't managed to wrangle a warrant out any of the local justices. If the FBI couldn't do it, there was no way in hell NCIS would be able to get one.

So, here they sat (drinking because they weren't there _officially_) scanning the crowd for professional killers – his boss nudging him every now and again to point out something or another.

All together, it was _not_ a particularly relaxing evening after an afternoon of hunting down the Boss's coffee heist culprit.

Ignoring a rather slutty looking blonde to his left, Forrester glanced at his watch – 7:03 p.m. Still kind of early for the bar to be so full, but apparently there was some sort of event going on. He hadn't really paid attention to the specifics. He already knew full well that he would sit here with his boss until DiNozzo was ready to go back to the office.

Consciously not sighing, he leaned back against the bar, taking a sip of his beer and scanning the crowd again.

It had been a remarkably long day. What had started out as a trip to this particular bar to talk to the owner, with a quick side stop for lunch, had turned into a nightmare.

First, the police station. Forrester had learned quite a lot about his new boss during that particular holocaust – foremost being DiNozzo's tolerance for incompetence, which happened to be zilch. Heads had _rolled_. After witnessing Officer Murdoch's very near decapitation, Forrester swore that his boss would never, _ever_ catch him being incompetent at _anything_.

Even if that meant living at the gun range, learning to shoot with just his pinky.

When they had finally retrieved the missing wallet – sans the badge, a fact which pissed DiNozzo off so much the vein in his forehead started to pulse – the boss seemingly decided to adopt the Coffee Crazy Case.

And so they hared off to confiscate the coffee shop security tapes and talk to a few of the lingering, shell-shocked witnesses.

And now they were here – long past the point of pretending they were doing something useful.

Forrester had a sneaking suspicion that DiNozzo just wasn't ready to face Director Hollinder yet.

Or Summers, either, if the amount of ignored calls meant anything.

On his right, DiNozzo shifted and Forrester glared to forestall the 'nudge' he just knew was coming his way. Instead, the boss just raised an eyebrow and cocked his head towards the nearest exit.

Finally.

Time to face the music.

** * ** * ** * **

**A/N:** Sorry for the wait, you guys, and the fact that this chapter is a little on the short side. Not my best work, but it brings us a bit closer to the inevitable clash of the Titans and hopefully gives you a feel for the 'relationship' Tony has with each team member. Please read and review – I'm very interested in what you guys want to see in the next chapter.

** * ** * ** * **

** * ** * ** * **

** * ** * ** * **

_**Warning**__ – _If you don't want to know what _might_ happen later, don't read. This is just a little tidbit that I've written, but not placed into a chapter yet. Will probably happen in the next two or three chapters.

** * ** * ** * **

** * ** * ** * **

** * ** * ** * **

_Coming Soon:_

"Uhm, Tony?" Jimmy watched as Tony paced somewhat unsteadily back and forth across autopsy. Of course, it was the maniacal grin that concerned him. "Being threatened by a notorious serial killer is a _bad_ thing."

"Nope." Tony stopped pacing. "Now we know who his next victim is."

"You know it isn't really your case." If Jimmy knew how to be tactful, he would definitely be using that skill now.

Tony growled a little, listing to one side. The man really needed to sit down before he fell down.

"The lead investigator is going to fly out here, you know."

Tony just grunted.

"That means Gibbs."

Tony sighed and leaned against one of the autopsy tables.

"Jimmy," Tony's voice was hoarse and cracking with emotion. What kind of emotion, Jimmy wasn't sure, but he didn't really think it was a _good_ kind. "Gibbs is gonna bulldoze right in here like he usually does. But he'll need me to help him solve this." Tony gulped, swallowing something. "I can't let him put me under protection detail."

And Jimmy understood.

As much as he worried about Tony – what with an angry serial killer out for his blood – Jimmy knew that Tony _couldn't_ just sit by and let his old team hunt for a murder that got away on _his_ watch.

Yeah, Jimmy understood – he just didn't know what to do about it.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N:** Hey everyone! Sorry it has taken me so long to update, but here is a long-ish (well, for me anyway) chapter for you. Hope you guys enjoy! BTW, keep up the great reviews and thanks for reading.

** * ** * ** * **

_Good grief, Moira, get a hold of yourself!_ Agent Summers internally chastised herself, but it had no effect on her nervous fidgeting.

It was dark outside and the bullpen was nearly empty. Everyone that didn't have some pressing concern or over-due triplicate had gone home to their own unique stress-free environment.

In fact, only those somehow connected with Agent DiNozzo were still there. Jimmy was down in autopsy, waiting much more patiently than Summers, for 'Tony' to get back. The young doctor had taken the news surprisingly well – apparently being stalked by a serial killer wasn't too far outside of the realm of the ordinary for Special Agent DiNozzo.

Then, of course, the Director was up in her office waiting for both her agent's return and Mackey's report. She was probably practicing a special chewing out speech for the Boss. Summers wondered morbidly whether or not Hollider would be able to make the Boss's left eye twitch. Summers, herself, had only ever seen the right one spasm.

Summers squirmed in her chair, tapping her fingers nervously on the metal drawers on the front of her desk.

Bowen, who had been going through a stack of reports on the Assassin Case, cleared his throat reprovingly and shot her an annoyed glance. Summers consciously stilled her hands, and tried to look apologetic, but her eyes slid down to the phone sitting innocently on the corner of her desk.

She consciously did not reach for it and hit speed dial #2.

"Summers." Now _Bowen_ was chastising her. Lovely. "He'll be fine. We don't even know if the letter is genuine. Any wacko can write in block letters and sign 'The Letter Writer' at the bottom."

Summers nodded – this was true. But she still had a very bad feeling about this whole mess. She just really, really wanted the Boss to yell at her for being stupid and fretting like some character in some movie.

"Besides, knowledge of the Writer's intentions hasn't helped any of his victims thus far."

"Oh, _thanks_, Bowen. That was reassuring." Summers made sure her sarcasm dial was turned all the way to overload. It wasn't like she _liked_ the idea of worrying over a complete bastard – Bowen didn't have to make it worse by pointing out that there really wasn't much hope anyway.

"Summers, you were complaining just this morning, after our stimulating morning exercise, about how much you hated DiNozzo. You even offered to pay Forrester two grand to 'accidentally' lock him in the men's room over night."

"Yeah, well…" Summers sighed. She knew that would come back to bite her in the butt. "I still think he's a bastard, but…" _He's a rather decent bastard, if there is such a thing._

"I don't believe it." Bowen scowled and shuffled some papers around in irritation. "You're turncoat, like Forrester. I suppose I should have expected this." He sighed. "Still, the man is – beyond contempt. Not ten minutes after he waltzed in – no introduction or anything – the man starts handing out orders like he owns the place. Then he black mails us into _ridiculous_ "training" exercises that wouldn't be legitimate at a psych ward."

"Oh?" Summers raised one eyebrow mockingly. Bowen was one to talk. "This morning you defended his good name rather gallantly. I was under the impression that you were 'willing to tolerate his juvenile quirks in exchange for the flashes of astonishing competence almost regularly displayed'." Summers slowed her speech and tried to imitate the Bowen's flat, Bostonian a's as she quoted him.

"I.." The blonde agent sighed and gave up the paper shuffling. "The man is going to get himself killed. You expect me to be tolerant?"

Summers gaped. Bowen was expressing concern – Bowen never expressed _anything_ close to raw emotion. It was unheard of.

Now, though, she supposed the man's usual dry sarcasm made more sense. It was a shield of sorts.

Forrester wore his scars like a cloak and used only a dark scowl to push people away. Bowen had never bothered to explain his excessively stand-offish, professional demeanor even that much. But now Summers realized that he was protecting himself – he feared abandonment.

That actually made sense, considering what she knew about his parents. Abusive alcoholics to the end, although she really only suspected the 'abusive' part.

He probably felt like he'd goofed up, giving DiNozzo a half-stamp of approval so early in the game. Now this happens.

Summers had no idea what the Boss did to win Bowen over so easily or quickly – nor why Bowen was being so open with _her_ – but she swore that DiNozzo wasn't going to let any of them down.

And it was rather simple, really.

She just wouldn't let him die.

She shoved the phone farther into the corner of her desk. Calling DiNozzo wouldn't help him any at all.

Catching the Writer would.

"C'mon, Bowen." Summers flexed her fingers, getting ready to google the issue to death. "You know it's our job to make sure that he _doesn't_."

Bowen's slight smirk let her know that she wasn't alone. And Summers knew that Forrester was already fiercely protective of the new boss, although, again, she had no idea why.

Forrester would keep the idiot playboy alive and Summers and Bowen would catch the creep.

End of story.

** * ** * ** * **

**NCIS, Washington, D.C.**

Dr. Donald Mallard watched Jethro growl angrily under his breath and pace around autopsy.

His heart hurt for his friend. Ducky wished he could say that he had never seen the younger man like this – or even _this_ bad – before, but he had. Sadly, these fits of intermittent rage and helpless seemed to come with the job.

It _had_ been awhile, however, since Jethro had seemed so out of control. Ducky cocked his head slightly, thinking. Yes, the last time Gibbs had gotten so worked up was when Ari – Ducky cringed. He was not going to think about.

Dr. Mallard liked to consider himself a fairly self-aware man. He knew that, generally, what he thought about, he spoke about. Well, rambled about, really.

Still…Ducky remembered obsessed Gibbs had been with catching Ari – and how out of control. Ducky hadn't been able to snap him out of it then, and he doubted he would be able to do it now.

The M.E. toyed with calling Anthony – that was how the last fit had been ended, although Ducky still didn't know exactly what words had been exchanged.

"Duck."

"Hmm?" Ducky forced himself to be nonchalant. "Oh, yes, Jethro?"

"You got anything?"

Ducky sighed. Jethro rarely _ever_ looked helpless, but the desperation rolling off of him now was thicker than the fog in Edinburgh. It had been ever since the writer's mysterious 'disappearance'.

"Jethro," ducky began gently, compassionately, "you know that neither Abby nor I have anything new for you. Maybe you should call him."

Gibbs winced.

"And say what?" His voice was demanding, hard. "Tony would demand to be brought down here if he knew."

"And would that be such a bad thing? He is a capable investigator, you know."

"I _know_ that, Duck," Gibbs retorted immediately, sounding offended that Ducky could have ever thought otherwise. "But that's what _he_ wants. _He_ never loses a kill Duck – like he lost Tony."

"You think he'll try again." Ducky's heart sunk to his stomach, possibly all the way down to his liver.

Gibbs would _never_ bring DiNozzo back into this type of danger – not if he could help it. He would do what he had always done before – protection detail, safe house if he had to. Jethro would _not_ lose another family – he would not lose his son.

Growling, Gibbs went back to pacing and Ducky stared desolately at his empty autopsy tables.

** * ** * ** * **

**NCIS San Diego, CA**

Kate Hollinder looked down her nose at her newly transferred agent.

What had ever possessed her to hire such a stubborn man?

A brief flash of a memory – snow in Moscow, and red at the very edge of her vision – assaulted her, leaving behind a strong, visceral impression of heart wrenching panic.

_1…2…3…4…_ Kate breathed, emptying her mind of everything but the numbers. Somehow – perhaps necessity had taught her – she managed to keep her face straight. With a practiced mental shrug, she refocused on the task at hand.

DiNozzo. Right.

Hired because she owed _Jenny_ a favor.

The San Diego director watched the Italian-American wave his hands in the air, going on – and on and _on_ – about how The Letter wasn't, couldn't be real.

Because The Letter Writer was in D.C. Where DiNozzo should be, but wasn't because, hey, he had two cases here and could certainly solve a third long-distance.

He'd just charge collect.

Shaking her head, Hollinder sighed. She'd met men like this – men that thought they hid everything from the world. They worked damn hard at hiding 'everything' (read: self perceived weakness or anything of value) and mostly were damn good at it, too.

For example, Hollinder didn't know what DiNozzo was hiding. She did know that he wasn't the half-cocked juvenile crazy that he (very skillfully) pretended to be. He was doing good work with the Terrible Threesome, even if he wasn't actually _working_, as in on rotation. Kate suppressed a growl at that thought. That wasn't important now.

DiNozzo, arrogant ass that he was – she was pretty sure he couldn't fake _that_ convincingly – was still yammering about only being so lucky as to having the _real_ Letter Writer after his blood. A fake one seemed to involve so many disappointing complications.

She was no psychiatrist, but Hollinder sensed some repressed guilt issues here. Kate fought not to close her eyes against a flash-back of DiNozzo wearing a haunted look that had no place on a face so young. Damnit, she wasn't supposed to _care_ – not after only two weeks!

"Director, I've got a lead on that cold-case I told you about yesterday." DiNozzo had stopped ranting. Hollinder glanced at the time. Hmm, his rants were getting shorter and shorter – maybe ignoring his outbursts actually worked. She'd have to thank Jimmy for suggesting it.

"DiNozzo –" Hollinder had been about to tell him off for changing the subject. _Her_ agents didn't get to ignore their own safety.

But Mackey stumbled in, making the point moot.

"Yes, Mr. Mackey."

"Erm." Mackey gulped and adjusted his thick framed glasses, casting a nervous glance at DiNozzo. "It – it's genuine."

DiNozzo's eyebrow rose and he smirked as if at some unseen joke, but Hollinder wondered if he wasn't startled or frightened or both.

"You don't say?" Tony waggled his eyebrows. "Please tell me you're talking about that holster with John Wayne's autograph that is being auctioned on E-bay. You know it closes tomorrow at midnight."

Mackey's mouth opened, but no sound escaped. DiNozzo frowned in disapproval, sparing Kate a… strange, unidentifiable glance… before advancing on the gobsmacked computer geek.

"You forgot to check, didn't you? You-"

"The Letter!" Mackey squeaked excitedly, daring to interrupt the scary senior agent. "You – he – it…."

DiNozzo sighed.

"You sure?"

Evan nodded, looking like his puppy had just been ran over.

"I'll check on the holster for you." Swallow. "And – and, it was good while it lasted. Farewell."

Tony clamped down an amused smile.

"Mackey, I'm not going anywhere." He winked. "I can't leave the kids without a babysitter, and Jimmy just doesn't know how to be firm with them."

"Hu-erm" Hollinder cleared her throat. _The hell he isn't going anywhere._ "You mean, Agent DiNozzo, that the only place you are going is to a safe house, with a full protection detail."

Her tone brooked no argument.

The damn man argued anyway – and with a smile so sweet it made her teeth itch.

"Director, I'm sure that's not what you want me to do."

Damn it he was infuriating. She glared. Mackey was quivering like a bowl of Jello in an earthquake. DiNozzo didn't bat an eyelash.

"What you really want is to catch this bastard before he hurts someone else. Director, we _know_ who he's coming for – and as long as we let him know where I am, we'll at least have an idea of where he is. It'll be like -"

Hollinder raised a hand to forestall the forthcoming movie reference.

"No, it won't. It will be like you following my order or like you being shipped back to D.C." This time she mustered her very best glare. "Either way, you _are_ going somewhere."

"Ha." He scoffed, _scoffed._

** * ** * ** * **

Half an hour later the haggard-looking agent stumbled out of her office, followed by a mute and shaking Mr. Mackey. Kate was sure she looked just as jaded as the first and (in the privacy of her own office) just as shaken as the second.

They had, after a quite vociferous dispute, reached an agreement.

As much as Hollinder wanted to kick herself for letting a _subordinate_ negotiate with her, she doubted very much that there was any other way _to_ respond to her newest agent's audacity. She would much rather have him on her side, however tenuous his alliance, than to be some rouge entity.

Vigilante justice. Kate snorted. DiNozzo was definitely that type. If she were a few years younger she might be trying to decide which superhero's tights he'd look best in. She shook her head slightly. _That_ was not a good, productive line of thought.

She went back to their agreement. The Pact, as DiNozzo had referred to it, ensured that the damn stubborn man would be taking at least the _minimum_ safety precautions at _all times._

Including regular check-ins with her, personally. Also, the man was not to be left alone, ever, unless he was in the NCIS building. Both she and at least one of his agents would know his whereabouts at all times.

Also, and this had turned out to be the toughest battle, the lead investigating agent on the Letter Writer's case would be called – she'd agreed to let DiNozzo do it – and informed of the recent development. He hadn't said anything, but she was sensing history resurfacing. Of course, the lead team was from Washington – DiNozzo probably _did_ have a history with whoever was lead. Still, DiNozzo would make the call before tomorrow morning.

Heavens knows what he planned to get himself into between now and then.

DiNozzo _could _still go out, provided one of his _armed_ agents was with him. Apparently, DiNozzo had a solid lead on a fresh case he'd nicked from the FBI. Hollinder couldn't find it in her to be reproving like convention dictated.

She just hoped her leniency wasn't about to get her newest agent killed.

** * ** * ** * **

Mackey shuddered.

He'd been doing this on and off since he'd inadvertently stumbled into the Battle of the Titans with news of his test results. The letter was the real deal. He was certain.

And DiNozzo acted like it was a purposeful imposition rather than a threat on his life.

And Mackey was going to miss him. Despite the older man's nonchalance about the whole thing, Mackey had followed the Letter Writer's career closely. He knew the man was dangerous.

Just think! The last time someone had tried to net the killer had ended in a near tragedy. They'd tried to out-fox the fox by dangling a lure.

The 'lure', a young undercover agent – identity classified – had nearly died. Mackey would be surprised, after reading the censored injury report, if the agent hadn't received medical discharge. Evan sighed.

He really, really didn't want to see that happen to DiNozzo.

He _liked_ DiNozzo. Sure, the man was harsh sometimes, but most often he acted like an indulgent older brother. Sometimes he would even talk shop with the 'forensics' geek'. Tony was quite knowledgeable when it came to ballistics, fingerprinting techniques, and even knew a fair bit about chemistry. He was pretty much a lost cause when it came to computers, though.

Mackey sighed again as he reached out to punch the elevator 'down' button. He was really going to miss DiNozzo.

"For Pete's Sake!" Mackey started at the agent's outburst, missing the plastic square. "I am not going to get myself killed!"

Evan jerked again. It was scary how often DiNozzo seemed to know what he was thinking.

"Look, I know you're worried, but I'm a big boy – I _can_ handle myself. Besides, I have a top notch team to watch my back, ya'know?"

Mackey cracked a grin.

"You know the worst thing you can do is trap me in some safe house where no one knows where I am and I can't _go_ anywhere when _he_ finds me."

Mackey gulped. Because Tony was right – the killer _would_ find him. After all, the standard safety procedures hadn't saved _any_ of his past victims. Maybe a new approach _would_ work. His genius IQ level brain whirled off in a new direction.

"As long as _we_ get _him_ first, I'll be fine. That's the only way, you know." DiNozzo shifted his weight and slapped the down button. "I'm the fastest draw in the west. We'll get him."

Mackey nodded – then a thought occurred to him.

"But that other team – Griggs? – is coming. Won't he insist that you go into hiding?" His stomach tightened. DiNozzo had him convinced that going to a safe house was a really, really bad idea.

DiNozzo nodded grimly.

They boarded the elevator, riding in silence.

"I'll come up with something."

Suddenly confident, Evan cleared his throat.

"I'll help. And Moira and Bowen and Dean. They don't hate you as much as you think." Evan winced. Moira would kill him if she found out he said that.

"Don't forget Jimmy!"

DiNozzo waved cheerfully as he exited the elevator, sauntering off in the direction of Autopsy.

** * ** * ** * **

Jimmy stared down at the McClane file rather moodily. He'd promised DiNozzo a second opinion in the form of a 'virtual' autopsy, but so far he had nothing new to report. He wasn't qualified to give his professional 'anything' about the killer's motives or state of mind.

He sighed.

Of course, Tony's current situation wasn't exactly conducive to a calm and rational focus on the proper issues. Drat the man!

Jimmy knew that DiNozzo really couldn't be blamed for this predicament, but he still wanted to, very badly. Really, it wasn't fair that the agent had to deal with something this stressful so soon after reporting to his new post.

If this had happened back in D.C. Jimmy wouldn't let himself get too worked up – after all, Tony had dealt with killers of this same caliber before. Heck, he'd been chained to one for a day – alone, and without back up. He hadn't even been armed with the knowledge that he was chained to a serial killer.

But, even thought he hadn't had back up then, he really _had_. He knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that his team was right behind him. All he had to do was stall for them – leave just enough bread crumbs behind for Gibbs to come to the rescue.

This time, Tony _was_ the boss – and the backup. He was the end of the line, in the field. His agents, his new and uncertain agents, had to trust _him_ to be their Gibbs.

Tony was being targeted by a ruthless and effective killer with three very cynical and wary agents as his back up.

Perhaps Jimmy was just a little bit cynical too, because he couldn't bring himself to believe that the letter wasn't genuine.

Again, he sighed despondently.

"Heard the news then, eh?"

Speak of the Devil.

"Why are you smiling?" _The man is crazy._

"We-ell, it isn't everyday that we get such a great lead on that bastard." The tone was bright and cheerful, but DiNozzo's eyes were hard and haunted. Jimmy knew the history here – it had come up once before in one of Tony's crazed stress-induced confidences while Gibbs was _gone_.

"Uhm, Tony?" Jimmy watched as Tony paced somewhat unsteadily back and forth across autopsy. Of course, it was the maniacal grin that really concerned him. He was beginning to think his earlier assessment had been spot on – he really was dealing with a crazy man. "Being threatened by a notorious serial killer is a _bad_ thing."

"Nope." Tony stopped pacing. "Now we know who his next victim is."

"You know it isn't really your case." If Jimmy knew how to be tactful, he would definitely be using that skill now.

Tony growled a little, listing to one side. The man really needed to sit down before he fell down.

"The lead investigator is going to fly out here, you know."

Tony just grunted.

"That means Gibbs."

Tony sighed and leaned against one of the autopsy tables.

"Jimmy," Tony's voice was hoarse and cracking with emotion. What kind of emotion, Jimmy wasn't sure, but he didn't really think it was a _good_ kind. "Gibbs is gonna bulldoze right in here like he usually does. But he'll need me to help him solve this." Tony gulped, swallowing something. "I can't let him put me under protection detail."

And Jimmy understood.

As much as he worried about Tony – what with an angry serial killer out for his blood – Jimmy knew that Tony _couldn't_ just sit by and let his old team hunt for a murder that got away on _his_ watch.

Yeah, Jimmy understood – he just didn't know what to do about it.

He did, however, know what to do with the nasty, clotted cut over the stubborn man's eyebrow.

_Start with what you can do, Jimmy_ he thought to himself, gauging the best way to approach the matter, _deal with psycho killers and Gibbs later._

** * ** * ** * **

**A/N:** I wonder how many times I can call DiNozzo stubborn in one chapter? Well, ok, so now he's off to do something stupid and reckless. Whumping ahead!

Ohhhh, and who is your favorite OC? Vote on it --- winner gets to save a life (haven't decided who yet, but probably DiNozzo…maybe)

P.S. Guys, I know that Jimmy wasn't around for that particular episode with Jeffery White, but we'll pretend he was – or, if you'd rather, just convince yourself that someone gave Jimmy a very detailed account of the event.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N:** Hey everyone! Sorry for the delay, but hope you enjoy this chapter. Also, keep up the great reviews and thanks for reading.

** * ** * ** * **

Wearily, Tony marched up to the bullpen. He still had to decide what to tell his team.

He _had_ made considerable progress with them during the past two weeks, but he could tell that they were still put off by his…unorthodox methods.

A spasm shot through his innards at that thought.

He was terrified that his team would never completely trust him – like what had happened with his _last _team.

Flashes of McGee staring at him suspiciously and Ziva glaring with the wariness of a wild animal invaded his mind. He immediately kicked himself for allowing his thoughts to drift back to his old team.

_Dammit_ he missed them. He liked to delude himself that even if McGee and Ziva didn't trust or respect him, Gibbs 'sabbatical' had been nothing more than a fluke. Even if Gibbs wouldn't trust him with everything, he was still _loyal_ enough to _his_ team to make up for it. _Semper Fi_ an all that.

But that wasn't reality. Gibbs had left. Gibbs had lied more than once – kept Tony in the dark, used him and the others. Maybe Gibbs still trusted his _skill _as an investigator as much as he ever had, but Tony couldn't trust him.

Why should his new team be any better?

He dragged himself up the stairwell with at a torturous pace, stopping every once-in-a-while to examine a lonely piece of lint or stark scuffmark on the light colored linoleum steps or landings. He was stalling.

Finally, he couldn't anymore. Fourth floor.

He was tempted to keep going, on up to the roof only two more flights up, but he knew he couldn't. Squaring his shoulders, he readied himself to face the protests and complaints he just _knew_ would be volleyed forth by his agents.

His rather dark sense of irony struck unexpectedly and he let out a dry chuckle as he reached for the door.

He was glad he didn't actually have his badge – he couldn't be tempted to climb one more flight and hurl it at Hollinder's desk.

** * ** * ** * **

"What?"

Summer's mentally translated the gruffly spoken word into what she knew Forrester had really meant to ask: 'You think we're missing something about the Writer? What, where, when, why and how?'

She glanced at Bowen and received a slight negative shake of his head. He didn't want to tell it. She took a deep breath.

"So, it's like this – the Writer shows signs of an incredibly high IQ, but twisted son-of-a-bitch thinking process. He likes to toy with his victims." She paused. "That is, right until he kills them."

"Bastard likes control."

"He likes the _game_." Summers forced a stray wisp of curly red hair back behind her ear. "Surely, if he was as much of a control freak as we thought, he would be more creative when killing his victims."

Forrester eyed her and Bowen, as if weighing their logic.

"You think it's about the chase, not the blood."

"Exactly. I think we're missing something." Bowen coughed. Summers bit back a sigh and amended her statement. "Fine, _we_ think _they_ missed something. Some kind of connection. The Writer always gets his _intended_ target – even if he hasn't always let them _know_ that they were being hunted."

"You know how he chooses his victims." It wasn't a question. Forrester's eyes had narrowed.

Bowen nodded and Summers grinned. They were gonna _get_ this bastard.

"He chooses athletic, intelligent people – military or ex-military. Hard victims. Smart ones – capable in combat. All of his victims should have been able to defend themselves, even if they were taken by surprise. I-" Another cough from Bowen. "_We_ think he takes time to set up elaborate traps, even if the MO suggests otherwise."

Forrester grunted – clearly he caught the implications here.

The Writer stalked his victims. He probably even interacted with them at some point.

His killings had always been quick, messy, even from the very beginning. He _hadn't_ always written letters before, but his gloating, cryptic trademark had followed each and every body.

Summers gut told her that there was _more_. This killer was pushing the line – getting bolder at every turn. He toyed with his victims and taunted law enforcement.

And now, with DiNozzo, he was making it personal.

She didn't believe that the Writer hadn't been to see DiNozzo yet.

"No proof." Normally that would have been Bowen's line, but Summers had already hashed it out with the blonde agent.

"Of course not!" Summers huffed in indignation. "If there had been then we'd've caught 'im by now!"

Forrester looked skeptical.

"It doesn't give us much to go on," Bowen interceded calmly, shooting a quelling glare in the ex-detective's direction. "But it does make sense-"

"Real cops use hunches all the time!" Summers interjected, ignoring Bowen's irritated look.

"- especially if we assume he collects trophies _before_, just like he does after."

The swarthy agent's eyes widened.

** * ** * ** * **

Jimmy was trying to focus on the autopsy reports from the McClane case – as wells as other murders recently connected with it – as per Tony's request.

It was quiet enough in autopsy that he heard someone – the squeaky tennies identified the forensic geek – shuffle into the room. Mackey took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. Jimmy frowned – Mackey wasn't usually this hesitant.

"Um, Jimmy?"

Dr. Palmer looked up from his file questioningly. Mackey had _that_ look.

Jimmy grinned. Evan Mackey, forensics' extraordinaire and almost better than Abby, had _that_ _look!_

"Um, well…" Evan flushed slightly at Jimmy's expectant enthusiasm. "I was thinking. About Tony – and, well, he shouldn't die."

The young doctor did his best not to roll his eyes, but it was no use.

"Yes, yes. Tell me what you found!" Or, wait, Mackey should really be reporting to Tony…

"I haven't found anything – it's just that I have an idea." Breathing deeply, Evan seemed to recover some of his confidence. "I read over the Letter again, and the ones from his stint before.

I noticed a couple of things. Firstly, he always refers to himself in third person-"

"Egomaniac –"

"Well…" Mackey tilted his head to the side and Jimmy's stomach dropped. He knew that wherever this was going, he wasn't going to like it. Sure enough, Mackey took a deep, steadying breath. "What if that's not it? What if the reason we can't catch him is because we are _off._ Our psych profiles-"

"That's all there has been to go on in this case – nothing, not a _single_ useful piece of evidence has ever been left behind. The only time we ever got close to catching him was when…" Jimmy faltered. He hadn't been around yet when Tony went in as bait, but the thought still left a sour taste in his mouth. He knew that Tony would do it again in a heartbeat if there was even half a chance that it would work. "When we set out bait. We're only playing his game – making decisions on what we know about the killer. And if we're wrong…"

Mackey nodded. "A couple of times he mentions that no one understands him – what he's doing. And his name; he's always signed as "The Letter Writer". I think there's more significance to that. We've always thought it was a misunderstood megalomaniac, but…"

Jimmy eyed Evan steadily.

"You think that there're two of them. The killer and the _writer_."

Mackey swallowed heavily.

"There seems to be some kind of dominant/submissive relationship – the writer seems to worship the killer."

The M.E.'s thoughts swirled. Evan was right – why had none of them caught this before? Surely, surely… But then, this case had occurred long before Ducky had taken an interest in criminal psychology and the 'quacks' that had been consulted were – well, Tony hadn't had many nice things to say about any of them.

The taunting missives that the killer – er, writer - sent his 'pursuers' contained a lot of symbolic language. The tone was at once mystic, goading, and derisive.

It was subtle, teasing. Not like the crimes themselves which were always horrifically brutal.

A two person team would make sense.

The master mind and murderer.

Jimmy felt it all click into place. Yes, it all made sense.

That's why none of their plans ever worked – there were _two_. One to act as the lookout – one to warn the other to safety.

The one that they didn't know about.

"Well, I've seen the autopsy reports. There's nothing physical-" Jimmy jumped right in, knowing that Evan would follow right along.

"-there's no physical evidence that will prove our theory, but maybe…"

Jimmy shook his head in the negative. Something that obvious wouldn't have been missed.

"We need to look at things like time of death, location, and the position of the body."

"Maybe there's something symbolic that will give us a clue to this symbiotic relationship."

Jimmy exchanged an excited grin with the other man. Tony wanted to risk his life again?

Tough luck – they'd have these monsters behind bars before DiNozzo could start his car.

** * ** * ** * **

Special Agent DiNozzo approached his agents stealthily, not making a sound. He listened carefully to their conversation and knew they were right. Maybe the new blood would be able to pull leads from the old case.

Forrester twitched when he was a few yards out – and he was the only one that was facing completely away from his boss.

Tony held back a sigh. He was going to have to train Summers and Bowen not to be so oblivious – it could get them killed. But not now. He wouldn't do any more than startle the two airheads. Knowing the jig was up, he decided to impress them with his mind reading abilities.

"Don't you three have anything to do?"

Predictably, both Summers and Bowen jumped. Tony was surprised, however, when Forrester twitched again. He, himself, had been working with Gibbs for more than a year before he'd started 'jumping' when Gibbs snuck up on him. It was almost a sign of respect – it didn't make any difference to Gibbs, but it did sort of add to his overall impression to the people around him. So he had let Gibbs startle him, and, in turn, Gibbs hadn't headslapped him as hard. They hadn't done either in a while though…

Tony let his thoughts trail off when he realized his team was staring at him quietly.

"What, do I have something on my face? Report!" He barked in his best 'Gibbs-voice'.

** * ** * **

Ten minutes after giving the harsh order, DiNozzo had reeled backwards (gracefully, of course) and had a mere two minutes to assimilate this new theory before Jimmy had summoned him back down to Autopsy, where his brain was put through another blender.

This changed everything – and, little did they know it, the theories supported each other in a rather backwards way.

So, now they knew what they were dealing with, all they had to do was think of a plan of action.

First, though, he had a phone call to make.

Taking a deep breath, Tony tried to psych himself for his next task.

Stalling, he glanced at the time (for the third time in the last five minutes) and calculated the time difference between California and D.C.

It was early in Cali – well, really too damn late because DiNozzo hadn't slept in nearly 30 hours – but morning was already in full swing for Team Gibbs and Tony _had_ to make his call.

Gritting his teeth, he dialed from memory and waited impatiently for the agent on the other end to pick up. He growled and leaned back in his desk chair when he counted the fifth ring.

Fed up he hung up and dialed another number. He rolled his eyes when it was answered immediately.

"Agent Sacks here."

"Slacks, need your boss." DiNozzo's tone was curt. _Well, I'm tired, cranky, and – oh yeah, I never liked the guy much._

"Wha- who- DINOZZO!"

"Oh – sorry about that, Slacks. I forget that you aren't the brightest in the morni- well, not the brightest. I need to speak with Fornell. _Now_."

"I'm sorry, he isn't –"

There was a sound of a brief scuffle and a resounding 'whack' which could only be someone's hand colliding with someone's head.

"DiNozzo, speak."

_Oh shit, oh shit._

Tony did _not_ want to talk to Gibbs. Hence why he called _Fornell_. Grumbling, he decided to blame Slacks' big mouth.

Still, instinct kicked in and he could feel his trademark grin creeping onto his face. When he replied, after only the slightest hesitation, his tone was bright and friendly.

"Well, nice to hear your voice too, Gibbs. How are you this fine morning?"

Gibbs growled a bit in response. Tony was suddenly very _extremely_ grateful for the huge expanse of land that separated him from his former boss.

The same former boss that would be flying to sweet sunny Cali before Director Jenny knew what hit her.

Again, _oh shit._

"Cut the crap, DiNozzo. What'd'ya got?"

"I called Fornell." This time he dropped the cheery pretense, settling for a flat hardness that he rarely used.

"Since when do you trade information with the FBI?"

"Since the FBI shares with me." Gibbs hadn't contacted him about the Writer. Fornell – well, Tony couldn't give the man too much credit, but then, Fornell didn't owe Tony anything either.

There was a moment silence.

Gibbs wasn't a talkative man by any stretch of the imagination and he seemed to realize that he had no right to make demands.

Tony didn't choose this situation, but he needed to fill Gibbs in. Technically, he should have called Gibbs _first_ because he was the lead agent on this case. Tony summoned his willpower with a deep breath.

"The Letter Writer is here."

There was an uncharacteristic intake of breath from Gibbs' side.

"He's taunting me – doesn't think I can catch him." Well, that was partially true. Gibbs really didn't need to know the rest. Okay, well, Tony really didn't need Gibbs to know the rest.

"DiNozzo…." Good lord, Gibbs was growling at him.

"Gibbs…" Tony growled back, then decided that he probably wouldn't win at the growling game.

So he hung up.

** * ** * ** * **

**A/N:** Alright, sorry if that sucked. I would have liked to spend another week or so on the logistics of this chapter, but I felt bad for not having updated in a while (and for starting another two stories – soon to be posted) so I wanted to get this up. If you seen any gaping errors, please point them out and I'll do a quick patch with my handy roll of duct tape (camo, of course).

Thanks for reading, please review, and – oh – it isn't too late to vote for the OC that gets to save DiNozzo.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N:** Hey everyone! Sorry for the delay, but hope you enjoy this chapter (even if it is a bit short). Also, keep up the great reviews and thanks for reading.

** * ** * ** * **

**NCIS Washington D. C.**

McGee and Ziva watched with a sort of morbid curiosity as Gibbs stormed into the bullpen.

"Plane. One hour." McGee and Ziva gaped at the Boss. "Go pack!"

The two agents jumped at their boss's sharp tone. He was definitely pissed about something.

Gibbs had been on the warpath so often since they picked up the Writer's case – McGee was starting to become slightly inured to it. Slightly.

Still, slightly offered him enough confidence to ask a question or two.

"Uh, Boss?" He ventured timidly. "Where are we going?"

McGee – and Ziva – cringed in anticipation of much shouting and fist waving.

Gibbs sighed.

"DiNozzo called."

Incredulously, the computer geek glanced over at Ziva. Judging by the expression on her face, he hadn't misheard the boss.

"So…?"

"So – what?!?" Gibbs reached over and whacked him across the head. "Grab your gear."

Neither agent moved.

Gibbs stepped closer to the two agents, towering over them. He opened his mouth – Tim cringed again – but Ziva cut him off.

"You mean to say that Tony is in trouble, yes?"

The older agent nodded dumbly.

"Right." Without hesitation Ziva turned to get her stuff. When she saw that McGee was still processing the new information she slapped his arm without slowing down. "Grab your gear, McGee!"

** **

Gibbs hated waiting.

At least, he hated _this_ type of waiting.

McGee and Ziva were using their hour to pack or take care of any other necessary business. Gibbs already had a suitcase packed – he'd been spending some nights in the bullpen since the Writer started killing again – and Ducky would take care of anything else.

He'd already talked to the director – she had even procured a jet for his team. Whatever Jenny had lost to the Frog, she still knew him well enough not to try to talk him out of going to Tony.

All that was left for him to do _here_ was to tell Abby.

And he wasn't going to do that until he and Ziva and McGee were half-way to the air strip. Abby would not allow herself to be left behind and Gibbs didn't want her anywhere near the Writer on a rampage – not in unfamiliar territory and surrounded by people he didn't know and didn't trust.

So, he was waiting.

He refused to pace and he couldn't focus on the case file in front of him – his thoughts kept going back to Tony.

Why the hell had he called _Fornell_?

It wasn't even the FBI's case and DiNozzo knew that. Did Tony not trust him anymore?

_Have I really screwed up that badly?_

"Jethro."

He started out of his thoughts – only managing not to jump to attention from years of Abby and Tony trying to catch him unawares.

"Tobias."

Fornell leaned casually against the front of his desk.

"Sacks says you broke his phone."

"Accidents happen."

"You threw it at a wall."

"Whoops."

The two gray haired agents stared at each other.

Fornell looked away first.

"Why'd he call you, Fornell?" Gibbs demanded harshly. He couldn't lie to himself – DiNozzo's betrayal stung.

"Bribed him."

Gibbs lifted an eyebrow – _with what?_

"Information." The other man sighed heavily, leaning further against the wood and metal desk. "He was with me when I got the call about the Writer. He agreed to call me if he thought of anything new as long as I kept him updated. He knew better than to wait for you to call" Pausing, Fornell frowned disapprovingly. "It's his case, too."

Gibbs grunted. Of course it was Tony's case.

But Tony was the one that got away – and that couldn't set well with the killer. Tony wasn't his agent anymore – but he still needed him safe.

"You going to go to your boy?" the FBI agent asked quietly.

"Yup." Gibbs answer without hesitation – registering the possessive pronoun only _after_ he answered. But, he realized, he would have answered the same.

His shoulders became less tense as he relaxed subconsciously.

Sure, he was still worried as hell that DiNozzo would have time to run off and do something stupid before he got there, but that uncertain knot of emotional anxiety melted a little when he answered Fornell's question.

_Yes_, he was going to get _his_ agent.

He'd known DiNozzo – worked with, lived through, and fought beside that cocky, juvenile misfit ex-_cop_ for eight years. He'd taught DiNozzo to fight like a marine and to live by a code of honor.

Tony DiNozzo was the best agent he'd ever trained and, as such, Tony DiNozzo would _always_ be _his_ agent. He had invested too much – he cared too much – to let him go.

And that realization – the realization that he hadn't _lost_ Tony – helped.

Nothing was magically better – he was still up shit creek without a paddle or a shotgun.

_And_ he absolutely was still in the dog house.

But he was determined to fix it.

First, he and his team would keep Tony safe. He'd shoot dead the killer.

Then he'd make things right with Tony.

And _then_ – finally – he'd _fire_ Langer.

"Hargum-ough"

Gibbs nearly growled as his thoughts were interrupted again – he glanced up – by the same person.

"Choke on your own spit, Tobias?"

"Phlegm." Fornell brushed off Gibbs' caustic words. "DiNozzo is doing good work – he's got a good team."

Gibbs nodded – it was hard to miss Tobias' un-subtle warning.

"I won't break him."

"Good." Gibbs regarded Fornell coolly as the FBI agent straightened from his relaxed position, straightening his suit jacket. "I'll stay here – keep an eye on things."

Gibbs hoped that by 'things' Fornell meant a certain precocious forensic scientist and an elderly M.E.

He glared.

Tobias rolled his eyes.

"Just concentrate on DiNutso and the killer."

"_I_ might be the killer if DiNozzo decides to do something stupid."

"He will not." Ziva strode into the bullpen with a puffing McGee trailing behind her. Both were carrying luggage. Oddly enough, McGee seemed to have substantially more bags than the woman. "We are ready, Gibbs."

"Time to go."

* * *

**NCIS San Diego**

After his very brief conversation with his former boss, Tony had sent his team off to get a few hours of shut-eye. He wanted his team to be well rested when Gibbs came barging in. Besides, there wasn't really anything they could do until evening.

Of course, all three of his agents plus Jimmy and Mackey had refused to leave him alone – which explained why Fornell was sleeping on his couch.

Currently, DiNozzo was laying flat on his back staring up at his bedroom ceiling. A few rays of bright sunlight filtered through the closed window blinds.

He hated this situation, but most of all, he hated that it was happening _now_, before he'd had a chance to break in his team.

He knew what he had to do – he knew it was kind of stupid, but he still had to do it.

He just couldn't do it and deal with Gibbs at the same time.

Summers and Bowen and Mackey and Jimmy weren't ready to face the Wrath of Gibbs. At least, not the type of wrath Gibbs liked to dish out whenever Tony ran off and did something a little stupid.

Tony sighed – Summers and the rest would survive Gibbs, he was just worried that he wouldn't have much of a team when all this was over.

** * ** * ** * **

Director Kate Hollinder stared at her black phone. She had just gotten off the line with Jenny – who took perverse pleasure in reminding the older woman that she was Kate's boss.

Jenny had definitely enjoyed dropping this bombshell on her.

Gibbs was on a flight to California – San Diego, to be specific – and that Agent DiNozzo was to be placed into a safe house immediately.

Kate's boss had brooked no argument.

And Hollinder was convinced, in light of the theories Agent DiNozzo had revealed to her this morning, that locking him in a safe house would be like signing a warrant.

Still orders were orders.

Kater glared balefully at her phone.

She was determined to find a way around this.

Still thinking frantically, she picked up the phone and hit speed dial 3.

DiNozzo did not answer his phone.

Sniffing suspiciously, she tried his home number.

Nothing.

Forrester didn't answer his phone – she was fairly sure she'd seen him leave it in the top drawer of his desk.

She tried Summers.

"Summers."

_Ah, one lives_.

"Agent Summers, I need to speak with Agent DiNozzo." Hollider hoped she didn't sound as desperate as she felt. As long as DiNozzo never got the order _and_ she did try to give it to him, no one could be strung up by their toes.

"Um… I dunno where 'e is."

Hollinder winced at the slurring – Summers had obviously been asleep. She knew DiNozzo's team was overdue for a few hours of rest.

"Forrester's with 'em." There was a groan and a thump. Hollider decided not to ask. "Safe."

"Very well, Agent Summers." Hollider paused, debating whether or not to relay her message to the other woman. She decided on not. If something happened to DiNozzo, if they were all wrong, then she deserved to take the fall.

It came with being head honcho.

"When you next see him, you will tell him I need to speak with him. Urgently."

"_See_ 'em. Got it, Director." Summers yawned tiredly.

Hollider said goodbye and hung up, wondering if she'd _imagined_ the emphasis on the word 'see'.

Surely Summers wouldn't actually wait to tell DiNozzo until she could physically _see_ him.

If she did that, DiNozzo could run rampant for the rest of the case.

Hollider was sure that wasn't entirely a good thing – even if they were managing to keep Tony out of a safe house for now.

** * ** * **

**A/N:** Okay – I know I'm stringing this out, but I promise a clash soon. Thanks for reading and please review!


	14. Chapter 14

"Forrester, how much cash you got?"

Forrester glared at his boss. He'd already decided that he'd trust the man with his life and his team, but he wasn't sure how _much_ he was willing to give to the man.

He'd die for him, certainly, if the job called for it. That was, after all, part of the job.

And he knew that DiNozzo would take a bullet for him – and anyone else on his team. Without question.

He trusted DiNozzo to look after Summers and Bowen and Mackey and Palmer – to keep them safe from harm, to keep them safe from the stress and guilt that also came with the job. But more than that?

He'd trust DiNozzo as far as he could throw him.

He trusted DiNozzo professionally – and trusted him to go the extra mile and care about _mental_ states as well as physical. But only where the job was concerned.

The personal stuff was out of bounds, just like he'd said on the elevator two weeks ago.

Asking for money was personal.

And this wasn't the first time – but, at the time, he thought he was merely buying lunch for a colleague. Not encouraging the man to feel at home in his wallet.

"Forrester!"

Forrester darkened his glare, not responding.

DiNozzo sighed, running his hand through his hair tiredly. He really did look like hell.

"It's just that we may need it. I called D.C. early this morning – Gibbs' team will be here" he looked down at his watch "in another two hours at most. McGeek will be there – and Gibbs won't hesitate to have him trace my credit cards."

Forrester raised an eyebrow. It sounded like DiNozzo was planning on deliberately evading a superior. Possibly against orders.

"That's an invasion of privacy – " The boss's tone was goofy and Forrester knew it wasn't genuine. He snorted loudly.

"Okay, fine." Forrester loved the way that DiNozzo seemed to know exactly what he meant to say without him needing to say it. If the boss hadn't already won him over, that would be about a thousand points in his favor.

DiNozzo leaned back against his much loved (and fairly comfortable) sofa, grumbling irritably.

"If Gibbs so much as sees my _shoe_ he'll have me in lock down faster than you can sneeze. That's never worked – and it has been tried with this killer, more than once – and it won't work now. I won't face that creep locked up in some dank cellar of a nice country cottage."

Forrester could tell that wasn't all, but, for him, it was reason enough.

Wordlessly, he pulled out his wallet and handed it over.

It was, after all, sort of job related.

** * ** * ** * **

Summers glared blearily at the fuzzy gray world, wondering why she was no longer hunting frogs in her favorite swamp. She listened carefully as the gray swam and morphed and a few pale clumps of color swam into focus.

"Bzzzzzt, bzzzzzt, bzz…"

Right – something was making noise. She stopped listening, rolling away from the irritating buzz.

Slowly, slowly, her sleepy brain caught up with the here and now.

Suddenly she growled, finally registering that it was the _second_ time she'd woken up to her phone ringing.

Still grumbling, she swung clumsily for the still-ringing device.

"Summers." She hoped whoever was on the other end could tell she was in a truly horrendous mood.

"Where's DiNozzo?!"

The unexpected volume caused her to jerk the phone away from her ear. The rude tone infuriated her. After all, _he_ woke _her_ up – not the other way around. And, besides that, she wasn't DiNozzo's keeper, for Pete's sake!

"How the hell should I know?!" She howled right back, hoping whoever-it-was would have ringing ears for the rest of eternity.

Not in the mood for listening to an angry retort she hung up and hauled herself out of bed.

She showed and ate and dressed for work, steadfastly ignoring her ringing phone the whole time. She was half way through her bowl of cereal when her phone rang for the seventh time since she got out of the shower.

It was an unfamiliar number, but different from the others.

Still, she was tired of it ringing. Even if she put it on silent it would still irritate her – she would _know_ it was still ringing.

"_What?!_" She demanded as soon as she opened the line.

"Excuse me?" Her has clenched when she recognized the smooth, affronted tones of her boss (specifically The Boss #4, according to Bowen).

"Um, hey, Boss." She refused to apologize. After all, her awful morning _was_ his fault. No doubt if he had bothered to answer his own phone she would never have been disturbed.

"Summers, wanted to let you know that Gibbs and his team should be arriving soon – they're gonna take over the Writer's case. I want you and Bowen to stay at the office. You should make sure Gibbs' team has what they need, but it is not our case."

"But, Boss-" What the hell did he mean, it wasn't their case?

"No, Summers" he interrupted her harshly. "It isn't our case. I want you and Bowen on the assassin case – I've got a few names for you to check out. I've e-mailed them to Bowen. That's your assignment." His voice was hard and cold and she knew better than to argue.

"Yes, Boss. We won't investigate with Gibbs' team."

She heard him sigh in… relief? Relief that she didn't argue?

"Good, see that you don't. Gibbs'll fuss, but you're under my orders to work on the assassin case. It is top priority."

_Ah_, relief that she understood him. He didn't want them to ignore the serial case – he just didn't want them part of Gibbs' investigation.

Well, that was no sweat. She hadn't intended to listen to some other team leader anyway. Especially not a D.C. Dandy.

It was rather nice of him to give her a valid excuse, though. She hated being written up for insubordination.

"Yes, Boss." Summers couldn't keep her smirk from coloring her tone.

"Alright, then. Forrester and I are going to follow up on another couple of leads. My phone is out and I can't find my charger, so E-mail me if you find anything. Bcc Forrester –"

"Forrester has an e-mail addy?"

The boss snorted at her incredulity. She did know he had an address – after all it was required of all NCIS agents – but she'd never _ever_ known him to check it.

"Copy Forrester, and _stay in the office_. Clear?"

Summers scowled. Yes, it was clear, but she didn't like it. What if she and Bowen _did _find something? Something important?

There was a serial killer stalking her boss and he wanted her to sit in the _office_.

She heard him growl warningly.

"Yes, Boss, crystal."

"Good."

Click.

Sighing, Summers regarded her phone as it began to ring again – this time a familiar _unknown_ number with a strange area code.

Well, time to go to work.

** * ** * ** * **

Ziva was pacing angrily.

They had arrived at the San Diego NCIS field office two hours ago.

Not only had Tony not been there, but no one on his team, or even affiliated with his team, had been there either.

Even the Director had gone on a longer-than-usual lunch break.

Autopsy and Forensics were likewise empty – even though it had been two in the afternoon.

One of the agents in the bullpen had informed McGee that Tony and his team had been up and on duty for nearly thirty-six hours. They were no doubt resting and should be back soon.

Soon.

_Soon_ had meant two straight hours of _waiting_ for someone to show up.

At this point, she did not really care _who_ it was – she just needed someone to yell at.

Gibbs had tried calling Tony and his team earlier, but had only been able to get hold of one agent. McGee had rolled his eyes when Gibbs' rude tone had resulted in him being hung up on – something that would _never_ have happened in D.C.

He was the King of the Forrest there.

Thirty minutes or so ago the Director had finally gotten back from lunch. She claimed to have been meeting with the heads of Forensics and Autopsy. She apologized for the wait and informed them that she had also been unable to get a hold of DiNozzo.

Gibbs had been furious – and worried, too, she could tell – that no one had heard from DiNozzo since early that same morning.

He was _supposed_ to be in a safe house.

Director Hollinder had been apologetic and reassuring about the whole thing, but that just made it worse. Hollinder claimed that she had decided not to put DiNozzo in a safe house until she was sure he was actually in danger.

After all, the note _had_ been rather cryptic.

She had not gotten Jenny's order until after the team had broken up to go home and rest.

Gibbs, once again, nearly blew a fuse when he heard that DiNozzo had been allowed to _go home_ alone. They had all been quickly reassured that DiNozzo was not alone – just as a precaution, of course.

However, the agent with him was notorious for _misplacing_ his phone.

Hollinder had granted them access to the letter the Writer had addressed to DiNozzo, but had been unable to offer them more.

Jenny had ordered her to allow Gibbs' team to take over the case so she saw no reason to start the investigation when said team was only six hours away.

So they were right back where they started – only a continent away.

But what was the difference from square zero in D.C. and square zero in San Diego?

"Ziva."

She stopped pacing, swinging around to face McGee, who was lounging at someone's desk. Gibbs had gone for coffee a few minutes ago. At Tim's nod she glanced in the direction of the elevator.

Her eyes narrowed as she observed a man and a woman approaching purposefully. They were both field agents, obviously. She could tell by the way they carried themselves – and also she could see their sloppily concealed weapons.

The man was tall and slight. He did not seem as comfortable with the gun strapped to his hip as the woman. Nevertheless, he walked with his shoulders back and chin up – his posture bordered on arrogant, but was somehow not macho. Longish blonde hair softened his angular features. His blue eyes appraised her and McGee like he might a watch he was thinking about buying. He was not welcoming, but he did not seem particularly hostile, either.

He was just… cold. Not frighteningly cold, but just enough to be off-putting. He was probably extremely reserved – always in control of his emotions.

Nothing like the woman next to him.

Curly red hair framed a fiercely scowling face. One of her hands rested just on her hip, across from the gun. Anyone else might interpret the posture to be righteous womanly anger, but she knew better. Zva's experienced eye could easily pick out the lines of a long knife that lay flat across her stomach, under her belt.

The woman was taller than Ziva, but not _tall._ Her bearing was wary, angry. Suspicious.

Ziva laughed to herself at the thought of Tony trying to control these two.

He should have stayed in D.C.

Just then the woman marched up to McGee and slapped the surface of the desk he was lounging behind.

"Mine." She growled. "Get up."

Ziva was there in an instant, looming threateningly behind the other woman.

"That is not how you ask." Ziva warned softly, threateningly.

The red-head snapped around to face her, but was cut off before she could make a retort.

"She's right, you know, Summers." The blonde man drawled lazily, leaning against a desk opposite of Summers'. "However… it is rather an unnecessary breach of etiquette to sit at someone else's desk without permission. Perhaps you and your friend will go find some other unfortunates' empty desks to occupy?"

Ziva forced herself not to snarl at the man's aloofness. She replied in a carefully neutral tone.

"We are looking for Tony DiNozzo."

"You 'an everyone else," snarled the woman, _Summers_. "He inn't here."

This time it was McGee's turn to cut off a sharp retort.

"Any idea _where_ he might be?" Summers shook her head sharply and opened her mouth to respond, but McGee – who had recently learned how to deal with this sort of behavior from Gibbs – cut in with a forced smile. "It's just that we're here to help with the Writer's case. We're Tony's old team – I'm Agent Timothy McGee and this is Officer Ziva David."

"Agents Bowen and Summers." The man's response was just short of curt. "As I understand it, you are here to _take over_ that case, not merely to help with it."

Summers smirked abruptly and nodded her agreement.

"There's some empty desks over there" she gestured beyond a gray partition "You've seen the letter?"

Ziva and McGee both nodded. Plump lot of good that had done them.

"Excellent," Bowen said. "Of course, we're here to make sure you have anything you need for the investigation. We should be here most of the night – we have a rather difficult case of our own."

Ziva's throat tightened as she recognized the speech for what it was – a dismissal.

McGee did not seem to get the same message – or he did and chose to ignore it.

"You're not going to help?"

"Do you need our help?" The question was meant as an insult. Ziva glowered.

"A serial killer is after your team lead, and you are just going to walk away?" McGee sounded incredulous – Ziva was not all that surprised. After all, she had not really cared much for Tony when she first met him.

Still, that was rather callous.

And it certainly cemented her dislike for these people.

Not waiting for either of them to reply, she hoisted McGee up by his arm.

"Come on, McGee," she said, leading him towards the empty desks.

Maybe it was better for the other two to stay out of their way.

If they did not, someone might get hurt.

** * ** * ** * **

Gibbs had made it back to the bullpen in time to witness most of the confrontation, unobserved, of course.

At first his own response had mirrored Ziva's rather obvious outrage, but his gut wouldn't let him keep it.

Something here was off.

He remember Tobias' comment – _"DiNozzo is doing good work – he's got a good team."_

Tobias was generally a good judge of character, and, presumably, he'd given these people a gold star with that comment.

Which meant that those two were probably acting on DiNozzo's orders.

Gibbs had already guessed that he'd been too late to stop Tony from running off to do something incredibly stupid – his absence hadn't even been the first clue.

As soon as Gibbs had demanded Hollinder to show him the Letter – the one that Tony had casually neglected to mention – he realized that Tony had left a lot unsaid.

Sure, he didn't _lie_ to Gibbs; the Writer had done plenty of _taunting_.

DiNozzo hadn't said anything about being threatened, though.

As soon as he'd learned that Tony and the Writer were in the same _state_ he'd thought "Safe house".

And he didn't think he was being unreasonable.

Now, however, he knew things were much worse.

And DiNozzo was off being stupid.

Gibbs realized that his fists were clenched so hard that his nails were biting into his calloused palms. He didn't care.

Tony outside a heavily fortified hidey-hole was stupid enough – but he knew that Tony was probably doing whatever he could to make his odds just that much worse.

And he literally couldn't do anything until he got his hands on DiNozzo.

Circumventing Summers and Bowen, he quietly joined his team.

Ziva and McGee were too busy maligning Tony's two agents to notice his arrival, but he didn't stop to eavesdrop.

He didn't care.

"Find Tony," he ordered abruptly. "McGee, check for his –"

"Phone and credit card usage. Got it, Boss." McGee looked relieved to have something do to.

"I'll put an APB out on his car, Gibbs." Ziva offered, quickly getting to work.

Gibbs grunted his approval and decided to check Autopsy and Forensics again.

If his guess was right – and it usually was – Tony would have tried to cultivate a type of friendship with the M.E. and scientist. After all, his bond with Abby and Ducky had helped solve many difficult cases.

Ziva and McGee would find Tony.

Gibbs would find out what the _hell_ DiNozzo thought he was doing.

** * ** * ** * **

Forrester grumbled to himself.

He was tired and cold and wet.

And it was _his_ fault.

He and DiNozzo had spent the afternoon 'checking up on a few leads'. He scowled as he recalled what the Boss had said to Summers.

He'd expected legitimate leads – maybe checking up on some of the names on that mysterious list he'd sent to Summers and Bowen.

Instead they'd gone shopping.

_Shopping_.

DiNozzo had drug him around to nearby wholesale shops, looking for _coasters_. He'd been incredibly picky and it had taken five stores before Forrester realized what he was looking for.

He'd been asking the sales clerks for coasters that the Howler used – Forrester had nearly strangled the idiot right then, boss or not.

He hadn't said a word, but the boss must have noticed something because he turned and handed Forrester a pilfered coaster.

There was no serial number, no _made in China_ label, no company logo anywhere on the strangely thick rubber and foam disk. He shook the flimsy object and noticed, tucked in between the black rubber and blue fabric-foam top, the corner of a white square of paper.

Tugging on it, he liberated a list of warehouses and wholesale stores that held or carried custom coasters.

Three more to go.

Forrester shook his head – the Boss must have seen something suspicious while they were at the club two nights ago.

It would make since, he supposed, if the Assassins were using this low tech method of communication. It was hard to trace and low profile.

Assignments could literally be handed out right under several FBI surveillance agents – as they must have been.

Forrester was in a marginally better mood once he realized that they weren't _shopping_, but merely out on a wild goose chase.

They hadn't found anyone admitting to providing coaster for the Howler – and Forrester guessed that the company wasn't listed anywhere on the extremely detailed reports that the FBI handed over – but three more names had been added to the Boss's list.

The boss seemed to think that ringleader wouldn't be found at the Howler.

Thinking about, Forrester agreed.

He still didn't see how trying to intercept strangers' coasters was a good idea.

Nor did he understand why he had to wait outside while the Boss did it.

He shifted he weight, grimacing as one of his shoes squelched loudly.

The Boss was snug and warm inside the Howler, playing undercover cop in a dangerous den of assassins.

Forrester sighed – he had tried to talk him out of it. DiNozzo was right about not going to a safe house, but he should take _some_ precautions… like staying at HQ!

Instead, he was snatching wet coasters from drunk assassins. Forrester began to wonder if he would actually be able to keep this boss alive for long.

The latter had led to him being stationed in a dark alley in the rain as back up. He felt impotent as well as soggy – _damnit_ but the Boss _should_ be wired. But he wasn't. And that was stupid, no matter that DiNozzo protested that it wasn't really _undercover_. He, after all, wasn't planning to walk right up to the ringleader and ask to be recruited to kill complete strangers.

The way DiNozzo said that last bit made him suspicious – but not enough to call him on it.

Still, he preferred his current situation to the one Summers and Bowen were currently enduring.

DiNozzo had been cheerfully loquacious over lunch and told him all about "Grumpy Gibbs".

Forrester shuddered – dealing with DiNozzo was quite bad enough. He didn't need another.

** * ** * ** * **

**A/N:**__Okay, there you go – we have clash! And of course Tony is putting it off. Thanks for reading and please review. I want to know what you guys think!


	15. Chapter 15

Gibbs entered the forensic lab tentatively, not sure what to expect. After a decade of having Abby as his 'Forensics Extraordinaire', he'd forgotten what a normal lab _looked_ like. Even Ducky's didn't really count – the man kept a set of bag pipes and a complete tea service in his office.

Even so, Gibbs wouldn't have called this lab 'normal' either. The lab was clean, spotless, really. There was no paraphernalia – unless you counted the shelves full of books, CD's, cassette tapes, and case files. Somehow, whoever ruled here had managed to fit an entire library of materials in a small room with no windows without making it seem cluttered.

"Y – you must be Agent Gibbs."

Gibbs spun around to see a small, very _geeky_ looking man entering the lab. Even though the man was only fifteen feet away, Gibbs hadn't heard him coming. He frowned. Tony would have been saying something derogatory about his mojo right now, and Gibbs felt another pang in his chest.

"I'm looking for DiNozzo."

"R-right." The man seemed cowed, but Gibbs could tell that he didn't have any intention of helping them locate the missing agent – at least not without some sort of resistance. "I'm Evan Mackey, the forensic –"

"Yeah, I think I got that," Gibbs snapped. "I'm looking for my agent. Where is he?"

"N-no idea, sir."

Mackey was shaking in his boots, but he still tried to appear normal as he tapped a few keys on one of the many keyboards in the room.

"Ya sure about that?"

Mackey gulped as Gibbs towered over him. The scientist began to back away, but he didn't have far to go before he bumped into a bookcase.

"Ah – Agent Gibbs! I see you've met Evan."

Gibbs bit back a groan as Palmer interrupted cheerily – at least he had heard this one coming. Keeping his expression intimidating, he looked over at Palmer, who –

Who remained absolutely unaffected by the Gibbs' Glare of Death. It didn't seem like that long ago that Gibbs could have the young doctor quivering in terror with just a look.

"I bet you're looking for Tony – I'm sure he'll be back soon." Palmer held up a hand to forestall Gibbs' predictable questions – er, _demands_. "And before you ask, no, I don't know where he is, just that he has Dean with him. If you like, you can wait for him in autopsy. I just got quite an interesting case –"

Gibbs shook his head irritably and stormed out of the lab, not missing Palmer's friendly smile turn into an irritating smirk.

** * ** * ** * **

Officer Ziva David was well past 'frustrated'. She was no longer merely angry. She was even beyond outrage.

She was worried.

Both her and McGee's searches had turned up nothing.

"DiNozzo, you slimy little mouse! Where are you?" Ziva ranted, loudly.

"Watch who you're callin' slimy, Davis!" Summers' rejoinder was prompt – and very easily heard, even though the woman was halfway across the bullpen.

"David" Ziva corrected instantly. She glared at the redhead approaching her desk. Any unlucky NCIS agents about quickly fled, giving the Cajun a wide berth.

"Agent DiNozzo is out searching for leads – which is more than you two can say for yourselves."

Summers words made Ziva livid. She would go out to look for leads as soon as she knew that Tony was safe – something that Tony's _team_ should already have taken care of.

"If you had gotten him into the safe house like-"

"What, that death trap?" Summers challenged, cutting Ziva off.

"As if you really care!"

"Enough!" The sharp bark took both women by surprise. Ziva smirked when she saw Gibbs – Summers was going below. "Both of you – knock it off. We need to find Tony – to do that, we need to work together."

Gibbs glared at both of them and Ziva did her best to look contrite. She did not particularly _feel_ contrite, but she could tell that Gibbs had something up his sleeve.

"Summers, is it?" he asked, addressing Ziva's opponent. The woman nodded sullenly. "Your boss is in trouble – if you know _anything_ about where he is, you need to tell me, right now."

Ziva watched as Summers' mouth tightened minutely before responding. Gibbs would break her yet – or at least trick her into saying more than she meant to.

"I don't know where _Agent_ DiNozzo is, and if you think for one minute that I'd deliberately put him in danger, you're a lot stupider than you look."

"Maybe not deliberately – but you don't know what you're dealing with."

Summers bristled at the not so subtle insult. She was about to yell – probably something uncensored and maybe something useful – when something awful happened.

Bowen walked up to join the conversation.

"I assume you mean that we have not attempted to catch the Letter Writer before, and you have, Agent Gibbs."

Gibbs growled at the evident slight.

"Well, not to worry, then. You're still in charge of the Writer's case." Ziva felt her anger begin to choke her. It took a great act of will not to reach for her knife. "Agent DiNozzo, and the rest of his team" Bowen indicated himself and Summers "have been assigned to an entirely different case. One that couldn't possibly be investigated from a safe house."

Oh, that man was insufferable! He was like Tony, but polite. Even Gibbs could not get Tony to talk about something that Tony did not want to talk about. Ziva had the feeling that Bowen would be just as hard to crack, for all his debonair attitude.

"I suppose it's also one that can't be investigated by another team because _your_ Boss is being hunted by a blood thirsty serial killer!"

Bowen just blinked, absorbing Gibbs' foul temper without twitching so much as a finger.

"Um, boss, if I may?" McGee's rather hesitant interruption caused four pairs of eyes to be fixed on him intently. He gulped, before deciding that what he had to say _was_ too important to wait. "I got a hit on one of Tony's credit cards – a pizza parlor just south of town. We can be there in twenty minutes, Boss."

"Well, what are you waiting for then?"

Neither McGee nor Ziva replied, opting instead to grab their gear and head to the car.

** * ** * ** * **

Summers exchanged a look with Bowen as the three D.C. agents rushed out of the building. She was certain that they wouldn't find the boss, but she didn't understand why he would've used his credit card.

After all, he'd been very obviously avoiding the team since they flew in.

The elevator dinged and seconds later she had her answer.

Tony DiNozzo strolled into the bullpen with all the smugness of a cat that stole the cream. A weary, bedraggled Forrester followed in his wake.

"Summers, Bowen, what'cha got for me?"

Summers shook away her surprise before Bowen managed to. Damn, but that had been smooth.

"How'd you manage to –"

Her boss raised his eyebrow, still smirking smugly.

"Nevermind." Summers turned around to her desk and snatched some pages she'd just printed off. "I searched the names you asked me to – only two of them have any interesting history. Guy deMarquel was accused of smuggling heroin into the states, but never convicted. However, that was twenty years ago. There's nothing else in his file that would suggest he's been in contact with assassins –"

"Nor are his financial statements shady." Bowen continued smoothly. "Alberto Quinto, however, has been making regular deposits to the account of one Jason Floide – a man who doesn't exist, according to the database. He's obviously done a very poor job of hiding the extra income – which is at least three figures more than what he could legitimately earn with his Custom Coaster business."

"So, he's on the assassin pay roll," the boss mused.

"Yeah, but why?" Summers asked, looking confused. "He obviously isn't _trained_ and he isn't smart enough to be the mastermind behind this."

"No, but he _is_ smart enough to package the assignments inside the coasters and deliver them at the Howling Coyote without asking questions."

Summers' eyes widened and Forrester grunted in annoyance. Hmm, there was a story somewhere behind that, but she'd pry it out of the stoic agent later.

For now…

"How do you plan to draw out the ringleader?" Bowen questioned.

"Someone will have to go undercover." DiNozzo grinned at their expressions. Summers knew she must be wearing a rather comical shocked/affronted expression.

The man was being hunted down by a serial killer, and he wanted to go undercover in a den of assassins? The hell _that_ was going to happen. She'd turn him in to Gibbs before she let him do something stupid like that.

Forrester seemed to agree. He shifted his bulk, altering his posture to make his glower appear more threatening.

Bowen just looked thoughtful.

"Not me." The boss rolled his eyes. "And not you either, Forrester. We may have been spotted already."

DiNozzo looked steadily at Bowen, who balked.

"What'd'ya say, Bowen?"

Summers couldn't help it – she burst out laughing. Forrester even chuckled a bit. Bowen just turned paler and paler.

And here she had begun to think that nothing could faze her partner.

Eventually she forced herself to stop laughing – funny as it was, it really wasn't.

She clapped Bowen on the shoulder and turned to face the boss.

"Of course he'll do it. He was born for undercover, weren't cha, Bowen." The handsome agent glared at her. "Don't worry, you'll do fine. Just give 'em that same look and you'll have 'em convinced in no time."

Bowen heaved a sigh, obviously uncomfortable with the assignment, but knowing he couldn't say no. He nodded glumly at DiNozzo.

"Good man," the boss said, slapping Bowen's other shoulder. "Summers is right – you'll do fine. Now, let's get this show on the road."

** * ** * ** * **

Director Hollinder stared at her newest agent and his team in disbelief.

"May I remind you, DiNozzo, that I have orders to lock you in a secure building until the Letter Writer is caught? And that the agent you propose to send undercover _has_ no undercover experience?"

DiNozzo just shrugged.

"He's a lawyer – he doesn't need any other experience. They lie all the time." Bowen frowned, but didn't say anything. Hollinder could tell that both Summers and Forrester – her 'trouble children' – were extremely amused by the situation. "Besides, he'll be in a club – lots of people around. All he has to do is get a meeting with the ringleader – we'll be sure to have an FBI taskforce close at hand when we go for that fish."

"That reminds me." Hollinder leveled a displeased gaze on her agent. "Someone from FBI showed up this morning, demanding to speak with Agent A. DiNutso. An agent who isn't on record anywhere – I might add. The Febbie went back to his local HQ and, next thing _I_ know, I'm getting irate calls from the director there." She paused for effect. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you, Agent DiNozzo?"

DiNozzo smiled sheepishly and Summers hid a smirk behind her hand.

"Ah – there must have been an unfortunate misunderstanding. You see, Agent Fornell – the FBI agent on the case before it fell into NCIS juri – doesn't believe in using the Americanize pronunciation of my name. Someone who isn't a good speller may have gotten confused." DiNozzo gave her a dazzling smile and Hollinder carefully stifled the urge to throttle him.

"Next time, deal with your own problems yourself – don't pawn them off to me." She snapped.

"Got it, Director."

"Now, back to the issue at hand –"

"Don't you think Gibbs'll insist on putting me in the safe house himself?" DiNozzo asked innocently.

Hollinder narrowed her eyes. She had direct orders from her superior regarding DiNozzo and a safe house.

Still, her instincts told her to trust her agent on this one. He was clearly aware of the danger and familiar with the Writer's case. Safe houses hadn't helped the last five victims – why should it work now?

She nodded, slowly.

She would much rather keep DiNozzo in the NCIS building, but even that wouldn't guarantee his safety.

There simply wasn't anything they could do.

"Fine. Run the operation – but you'll report to Agent Gibbs when it's over and offer your full cooperation for the duration of his investigation, clear?"

DiNozzo looked like he'd gotten a mouthful of something sour, but he nodded anyway.

"Done, Director."

With that, he turned and led his team out the door.

Hollinder watched her three most unruly agents troop after him obediently, wondering at their unusually docile behavior.

Maybe DiNozzo would last a bit longer than the last few Senior Supervisory Agents she'd assigned to that team.

Maybe she would learn to consider that a _good_ thing.

** * ** * ** * **

**A/N:** Sorry it's so short, but I wanted to get something posted. Thanks for reading and please review!


	16. Chapter 16

"Wait, McGee."

McGee sent his boss a curious look, but let go of the door handle anyway. The three of them had rushed out of the building and headed towards the car faster than Abby could finish off a Red Bull. It was odd that Gibbs wasn't already behind the wheel, risking all their lives with his _adventurous _driving.

Still – the Boss said wait, so they waited.

Belatedly, McGee realized that both Gibbs and Ziva were watching the building carefully. The older agent leaned against the blue charger casually, staring at the entrance while Ziva stood on her tiptoes, straining to see through one of the upper story windows.

Well, duh.

Wasn't he always kicking himself for under-estimating DiNozzo?

Granted, it usually had to do with silly pranks or stupid bets, but Tony had proved more than once to be smarter than he looked.

Deciding not to waste time castigating himself, McGee opened the trunk and fished around for some binoculars. He'd just pulled a pair from one of the field packs when Ziva snatched them away from him.

"Hey-"

"Hush," Ziva commanded, looking through the field glasses without making any effort to be subtle about it. "You were right, Gibbs. Tony is in there, with his _new team_." Ziva spat the phrase as if it were something offensive.

Maybe to her it was.

McGee wasn't quite ready to admit it, but he found himself missing Tony just a little bit. With the other agent's absence, McGee was starting to appreciate just what Tony's role in the team _was_. Tim thought that maybe, with time, the rift would heal – like it had with Kate – but he wasn't sure he wanted it to.

Tony belonged to _them_ – not that stuck up blonde agent and the mean-tempered redhead.

Guilt nagged at the back of his mind – none of them had treated Tony very well while Gibbs was gone – and even when he'd come back.

Still, surely they hadn't treated him badly enough to warrant this – _desertion._

McGee sighed, returning his attention to the matter at hand.

"What's he doing now, Ziva?"

"I think – it looks like the team is leaving the bull pen."

Gibbs shifted, watching the entrance.

Surely he didn't expect Tony to just _waltz_ out through the front entrance?

"No, they have gone _up_. I think they are going into the director's office – yes. I cannot see in there." Ziva sounded a bit frustrated. McGee bit back a sigh as he settled in to wait.

McGee had always considered himself to possess at least a modicum of patience. As a kid he had never dug the prize out of the cereal box – he had always waited until the box was empty. He never fast-fowarded through boring parts of a movie nor did he skip chapters while reading a book.

Even so, after only fifteen minutes of waiting – in a baking hot parking lot - for DiNozzo to show, Tim was starting to get stir crazy.

"McGee, stop fidgeting!"

Apparently Ziva's patience was wearing thin, too, even though she remained as still as a statue.

"I was just adjusting my position."

"For the fourth time in the last two minutes. That's fidgeting!"

"Knock it off, both of you," Gibbs barked.

McGee sighed.

He blamed Tony.

Twenty minutes, three or four minor squabbles, and two headslaps later, Ziva abruptly trained the binoculars on their target.

"Tony and crew –"

"Company, Ziva," McGee inserted helpfully.

"Whatever, they are entering the bullpen. Tony is – he is getting something out of his desk. It is – purple and orange and green and yellow. I have no idea what it is."

Gibbs winced.

"He is taking whatever it is with him into the elevator – his team is following. I think – yes, they have all grabbed their gear. They are on their way down."

"And you don't know what Tony grabbed?" McGee asked Ziva while keeping his eyes on Gibbs. Gibbs grimaced again. "Boss?"

"It's his _disguise_, McGee. Get in." Tim and Ziva scrambled to get in the car.

"Yuck." McGee rather agreed with Ziva.

"You think Tony knows we're out here?"

"Well, he knows we're not at Swick's Pizza." Gibbs responded, starting the car and putting it into reverse in one smooth motion.

"Bowen, put this on."

They were all four crammed into the elevator which was, once again, halted between floors. Summers was starting to dislike that 'emergency stop' button. The boss used it way too often.

"Boss?"

Summers turned around to see DiNozzo thrusting a large, shapeless hoodie at Bowen. Bowen, in return, was staring at the garment with distaste.

"C'mon!" DiNozzo shook the shirt until Bowen reluctantly accepted it. "Oh! And here, for you Summers, and Forrester." DiNozzo handed out standard _more_ ugly hoodies to everyone and donned his own with a flourish. "I didn't want you to feel left out."

"Agent DiNozzo, why must I wear this?" Bowen hadn't moved to don the very bright article of clothing – none of them had.

"Because I said. Now get a move on." The Boss paused, and smiled in a very creepy manner. "Unless you need help?"

Summers' eyes widened when DiNozzo leered and waggled his fingers at them.

Surely… he must be having them on.

He was sadistic bastard that got his kicks by messing with their minds.

Right?

The red-headed agent gulped and glared down at her hoodie.

She had the orange one.

She glanced sideways at Bowen – who had the green one.

"Trade?" she asked hopefully.

Bowen snorted in disbelief and quickly pulled the stifling green material over his head. She turned to Forrester – but he was already decked out in purple.

He reminded her of Barney.

Maybe she could put up with the indignity of the orange one if she got pictures.

Still, it was with measured reluctance that she dressed in the _orange_ _thing_ – the XL made her feel like a bright, lumpy mushroom.

"Smile!" None of them had more than a second to react – _flash!_

Well – she had wanted a picture.

Just not _hers._

Heaven help them all, but the Boss really was crazy.

Thirty minutes later, Tony and team _waltzed_ out the front entrance.

Or, at least, Tim _assumed_ that is was Tony and his team.

To his left, Gibbs growled threateningly.

Ziva said she had seen yellow and green and purple and orange – and, lo and behold – yellow and green and purple and orange there was.

One hideous color per person.

If this was Tony's plan for evading the Writer, then it was a very poor one. He ought to consider himself lucky that his old team had arrived to rescue him.

"What on earth did he expect to accomplish with that?" McGee asked incredulously.

"You know which one is him?" Gibbs challenged.

Actually – no. McGee didn't.

The Orange One was obviously Summers – she was too small to be confused as Tony.

The Purple One – Tony was taller than that, wasn't he? Only Purple was _swaggering_. Tony swaggered. DiNozzo couldn't pretend to be shorter, could he?

"If they did not have their hands shoved in their pockets we could probably spot him – even with those hoods pulled so low," Ziva commented.

"Ya think!" Gibbs snapped. Ziva sighed.

"I just meant that Tony isn't trying to fool the Letter Writer – he's trying to fool us."

Gibbs grunted.

McGee frowned – he supposed that made sense. There was no reason for them to believe that the Letter Writer would be so familiar with Tony's appearance that he would recognize his _hands_. Or skin tone.

The computer geek squinted at the wanna-be-thug look-alikes. No way Tony was going to pull one over on him – especially with something so juvenile.

Green and Yellow were about the same height – a few inches taller than Purple.

McGee was going to guess that the third 'man' was Agent Forrester – whom he had never met.

He knew, though, that one of Green and Yellow was Bowen. The other was probably – _possibly_ – Tony.

Purple sure could swagger, though.

"This is childish!" Ziva burst out.

McGee was inclined to agree.

"We should not play this stupid game with Tony – we should go over there and confront all of them. We can arrest them for suspicious behavior inside a government facility."

Gibbs snorted.

"Uh, yeah – why aren't we doing that, Boss?"

"When they start running, who ya gonna follow?"

"And even if we pick the right one, none of us _could_ catch Tony", McGee finished for his boss.

The three of them watched quietly as the Colors split into pairs. Orange and Green. Purple and Yellow.

Of course the two most likely candidates would go separate ways.

"I guess that means he won this one, huh?"

Gibbs just growled.

Tony felt like an ant underneath a giant magnifying glass.

He expected the Wrath of Gibbs to shoot down from the sky and burn his legs off at any moment.

He could clearly see his old team glaring at him from the idling blue charger.

They didn't look happy. None of them.

Even McGee looked very, _very _angry.

Tony gulped.

Too bad they weren't channeling that righteous indignation towards catching a killer.

Oh – right.

Tony grinned past his sudden I-am-such-an-idiot feeling.

"Um, Boss?" McGee stared down at his phone. "It's Tony."

Gibbs rolled his eyes.

Sometimes he wished DiNozzo was just a little bit stupid.

Well – _more_ stupid.

Maybe about as stupid as he pretended to be.

Or, maybe, Tony could be just a little bit less stubborn.

Gibbs sighed.

Of course Tony would call him _now_. McGee's laptop was stowed with his gear – it would take him several minutes to get it up and running. He wouldn't be able to get a trace on Tony's cell until it was too late.

Gibbs reached for the phone. Seeing McGee go for his laptop, Gibbs cleared his throat and shook his head at the younger agent.

Why bother?

McGee shrugged and leaned back in his seat.

Gibbs opened the phone, trying to ignore how Ziva leaned in close so she could hear the conversation, too.

"Gibbs."

"Hey, Gibbs. Whaddya think of our Team jerseys? Nice, huh?"

Gibbs ground his teeth together.

"Agent DiNozzo, I am ordering you –"

"No!"

Gibbs blinked at the fierceness of his agent's – he refused to think _former_ agent's – tone.

"No, Gibbs. _I_ am the Senior Supervisory Agent for the Major Crime Response Unit here. This is my town. You don't get to give the orders – not today."

I am, however, willing to offer you a deal."

Gibbs ground his teeth together – he had a feeling that this 'deal' was gonna be the take it or leave it kind.

Why couldn't DiNozzo see that he was just trying to keep the wayward agent alive?

And catch a killer?

What was with the damned hero-complex?

"What kind of _deal_, DiNozzo?"

_I don't negotiate with terrorists, and right now, you sure as hell qualify._

But he wasn't about to tell DiNozzo that.

_**A/N**__: _Sorry for the loooong break – and the cliffy… We'll just count this as ridiculously angsty-fluffy filler. Up next, DiNozzo's deal and some serious undercover work by Agent Double-O Bowen. Thanks for reading and please review!


End file.
